Tomorrow's Enterprise
by TomFoolery
Summary: When Spock asks Kirk to undertake an unsanctioned mission to the edge of Klingon space, the crew of the Enterprise has a rendezvous with destiny, exploring the limits of ethics, duty, and loyalty. The story of how James Kirk meets his father and finds himself torn between two fates. My theory for the fourth Star Trek reboot film. [Spock/Uhura mentioned]
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Four days before Star Trek Beyond was released, Paramount announced that the fourth installment of the franchise would include Chris Hemsworth reprising his role as George Kirk and suggested that he would cross paths with his son. I'm excited to see how they bring him back, but until I find out, this is my idea for how it could happen.

Some housekeeping notes: this story begins with a piecewise chronology, jumping between the years 2233 and 2263 to give an account of George Kirk's last days and Jim Kirk in the months following the events of Beyond. Eventually the story converges into a single timeline, but I've tried to make it clearer by providing references throughout the story. I hope it's not too confusing. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the story.

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.02  
0005 hours**

" _Eighty-eight bottles of beer on the wall, eighty-eight bottles of beer_ …"

"Jim, let it go. I know how to count," Dr. McCoy grumbled.

"I'm just passing the time, Bones," Kirk muttered. "Just passing the time."

"Well, the song is awful and you're a terrible singer. And get rid of that damn tooth."

" _No_ ," Kirk snapped, gently rolling the Romulan's tricuspid tooth around in his palm. "It reminds them not to mess with me."

"Well, I'm sure someone will come picking another fight with you before you know it," Bones said, looking around at the shadows in the dimly lit cell. "You didn't have to beat him unconscious."

"He _started_ it," Kirk retorted, trying to keep his words from slurring together.

"Jim, look at me," Dr. McCoy insisted, gently slapping his face to elicit some alertness.

The bruise above his right eye stung and he winced.

"It's so _hot_ in here, Bones," he mumbled.

"Yeah, I know," the doctor replied. "Here, loosen your boots some more. I'll go get some more water."

"Yeah, that sounds nice," Kirk agreed. "Hey, _Bones_?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful," Jim groaned, smiling pitifully. "They really don't seem to like us here."

"You don't say?" Dr. McCoy grumbled.

Kirk sat quietly, holding his bruised body rigidly and gazing across the poorly illuminated, makeshift prison. Being here was bad enough, but being in captivity with a dozen angry Romulans added an extra dimension of discomfort to the whole thing. This mission definitely hadn't gone as planned.

"Come on, Spock," Kirk whispered to himself. " _Where are you_?"

* * *

 **Stardate 2263.80**  
 **2145 hours**

Spock turned his computer terminal off and stared ahead at the wall in deep contemplation. It took enormous effort to suppress the swell of emotion inside of him.

He had not yet fully accepted Ambassador Spock's passing, and he had just received a delayed transmission from his predecessor dated the day before his death. The door to his quarters swung open and Nyota walked in wearing a beaming smile that instantly faded when she saw him.

"Are you ok?" she asked, her tone indicative of concern.

"No," he confessed.

His truthfulness seemed to startle her, and she swiftly approached him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"What is it?" she insisted, resting her chin on his shoulder.

He did not immediately answer, which he knew would frustrate her, but the truth was he didn't know what to say. "I do not wish to discuss it at this time."

" _Don't do this_ ," she barked. "You always find some excuse to shut me out! We were doing better. Please not today of all days. I have good news."

"I received a final piece of correspondence from Ambassador Spock," he explained, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "It was delayed due to damage to subspace beacons." He stood, breaking her embrace.

" _Oh_ ," she breathed. "I know it's difficult. _Spock_ -"

"I wish to meditate in private," he interrupted.

She sighed heavily and he did not have to look to know tears were forming in her eyes. She seemed to cry often, as of late. He picked up his PADD from the desk, walked into their bedroom, and shut the door. He closed his eyes thoughtfully and clicked on the device to reread the late ambassador's final message.

 _Spock,_

 _I made a solemn vow to never disclose my history to you. Our present reality deserves autonomy, and your life is yours to live._ _I fear I am not long for this life. There is one thing I wish to atone for, and one final favor I feel compelled to ask of you…_

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.01  
2145 hours  
**

"This has to be the _worst_ mission I've ever been on," Lieutenant Hernandez groaned, rustling his hair and yawning.

"With any luck, we'll be back on the _Kelvin_ in eighteen hours, _if_ the repairs you made to the warp drive hold," Lieutenant Commander George Kirk said with a grin. "And that's a big _if_."

"Are you making fun of my engineering skills, sir?" Hernandez laughed.

"Yes, actually," Kirk teased. "But you're still better at taming a warp drive than me, _and_ still a good geologist."

"Don't flatter me until we're back on the ship," Hernandez grumbled.

Hernandez might have a flair for drama, but he wasn't _exactly_ wrong: this had been a bad mission from the start. Three days ago, they'd departed for a routine survey of a cluster of planetoids near a nebula. They'd had nothing but mechanical and communication failures ever since and had spent the last day limping back to the _Kelvin_.

The _Kelvin_ had been deployed along the Klingon border to position listening posts three months earlier, and their mission was nearly complete. Unfortunately, the last phase was also the most dangerous, and that's how Kirk and Hernandez had ended up on this away mission, charting this nebula for possible interference.

Hernandez called it the "Bermuda Triangle," but Kirk didn't think that name was particularly fitting. According to the old Earth legends, the Bermuda Triangle was where ships went missing under mysterious circumstances. If _they_ went missing, the only mystery would be whether it had been due to Klingons or Romulans.

Kirk wasn't a nervous man: he would be ill suited to Starfleet if that were true. But sitting at the nexus of the Federation, Klingon Empire, and Romulan Star Empire wasn't a comfortable feeling, especially in the current political environment.

Adding to his worry was the knowledge Winona could go into labor any day now. When the _Kelvin_ received this assignment, he begged her to go home, but true to her stubborn nature, she'd refused. As the ship's first officer, he threatened to order her into taking early maternity leave, but he was smart enough to know he'd win the battle but lose the war if he took that kind of drastic action.

He noticed a shift in his screen and cocked an eyebrow. He told Hernandez, "I'm reading an increase of tachyon particles. Still on the low side, but-"

He watched the peak climb steadily and sat up in his chair. If the computer was correct, they were in the vicinity of a recently collapsed black hole or other similar phenomenon. With readings like these, they could be heading toward a temporal distortion.

"Sir, I'm picking up a transmission," Hernandez said suddenly.

"The _Kelvin_?" Kirk asked, shifting his focus.

They'd been out of communication with the ship for more than sixteen hours.

"No," Hernandez explained. "This is- this is _something else_."

"Go wake up McAvoy," he said.

Kirk pulled up the communications log on his own terminal at the operations station and scanned the data.

"It sounds like a distress signal. If the universal translator is right, it's in _Romulan_ ," Kirk said, dismissing the little nibble of anxiety in his throat.

"On our side of the Neutral Zone or theirs?" Hernandez asked, his face contorted into an uncharacteristically stern expression.

" _Ours_ , if the computer's telemetry is right," Kirk replied.

"What's your order, sir?"

He rubbed his temples. They were barely in shape to get back to the _Kelvin_ , let alone assist anyone else. And if the people they were assisting were Romulan, that added a layer of complexity he wasn't prepared, or _armed_ , to deal with. Still, he had a duty to make an attempt.

"Sir?" Hernandez insisted.

"Lay in a course for the coordinates of the signal. I'll go wake up McAvoy."


	2. The Mission

**Stardate 2263.81  
2013 hours**

Captain James Kirk set the PADD down and took a slow sip of his whiskey, allowing the burning liquor to roll over his tongue. He drifted into his own thoughts for a few seconds, but soon he was disturbed by the chime of the door to his quarters.

He hit the intercom. " _Come in_."

"Captain," Spock said, his voice smooth and deferentially typical. "I am sorry to disturb you."

"No, it's fine. I'm not working on actual _work_. I'm rereading Pike's dissertation on the _Kelvin_ and my father.

"For what purpose?" Spock asked.

"Memories?" Kirk laughed, illuminating the PADD's screen. "You know, I'm no engineer, but if the nacelles hadn't ignited the way they did, who knows? He also returned from an away mission right before the attack started. Makes you wonder what would have happened if he hadn't made it back in time."

"I believe it is illogical to consider the various possible outcomes that may have been in the wake of personal tragedies," Spock responded.

Kirk nodded, feeling a sense of awkwardness. He lost his father to the _Narada_. Spock lost his mother. _And his planet._

"Still, it's pretty incredible that the _Kelvin_ was able to hold off the _Narada_ for as long as it did," Kirk said, shifting the subject.

"The odds were not in the _Kelvin_ 's favor, no," Spock agreed. "Nevertheless, your father was successful, as you are now here."

Were he not slightly drunk and extremely tired, Kirk might have made a snide remark about Spock's passion for stating the obvious, but he set his glass down and smiled weakly at his first officer.

"What can I do for you, Spock?"

"Starfleet has given us a humanitarian mission to deliver emergency supplies to Nausicaa," he said. "The planet experienced significant seismic activity nineteen hours ago which has devastated three major city centers."

"That's terrible."

Nausicaa was not a member of the Federation: it was home to mostly pirates, smugglers, and mercenaries. Unfortunately, the Nausicaan government had always maintained that a "few" rogue individuals didn't speak for all of Nausicaa, and so the Federation had never formally gotten involved, despite the fact that pirates had spent most of the last century sporadically raiding civilian Federation ships.

These supplies were certainly intended as an offer of goodwill. Nausicaans weren't known for their gratitude, however, so more realistically, these supplies were meant as a bribe. By giving them what they needed outright, it might stave off increased piracy in the region. _Maybe_. _Probably not. Almost certainly not._

"I have asked Mr. Sulu to lay in a course for Aldebaran to collect the requisite supplies, and at warp six we will arrive in approximately eleven hours," Spock said.

"Ok," Kirk replied. "But you needed to tell me this in person?"

"I merely wished to keep you informed."

"I could have read it in the ship's log when I resume duty tomorrow, or you could have called me over a com channel," said Kirk, narrowing his eyes and frowning. "Why come to my _quarters_ to tell me about a routine change in mission?"

"I had another matter I wished to discuss with you," Spock replied.

Kirk shrugged and looked at his friend, waiting for him to get on with it. Spock glanced down and explained, "When our mission on Nausicaa is complete, the _Enterprise_ will resume its mission of charting the nebula in this sector."

"Yeah, _and_?"

"I had wondered if we might explore a nebula in a different sector," Spock finally said, meeting Kirk's eye.

"What's wrong with _this_ nebula?"

"As the ship's science officer, I feel the nebula in the Azure sector has greater scientific importance," Spock explained. "I have drafted an operations order and forwarded it to you for your consideration."

"The _Azure sector_? That's at least a week out of the way. _And_ that's Acamarian space: things have been pretty strained with them lately."

"I am aware of the sociopolitical tensions with the Acamarians and have included strategies for mitigating them in my report," Spock added.

"I just don't see Starfleet approving it."

"As ship's captain, you have a wide degree of latitude to alter course for any number reasons, specifically to investigate scientific phenomena."

"Yeah, but we're talking about a routine nebula," Kirk retorted. "In the Acamarians' backyard. Wedged between Klingon and Romulan space."

They had only left Yorktown six days ago, following the two-month construction of the _Enterprise-A_. He was glad to be back in space, but he had hoped to _ease_ into it. And now his usually levelheaded and cautious first officer was eager to go sniffing around in dangerous territory for no obvious reason.

"I am only asking for your consideration, captain," Spock replied.

"And I only want a reason. I'm not saying 'no,' Spock, but you have to give me more than, 'I like _that_ nebula better.'"

"I have often observed that a common tenet of human friendship allows for an occasional request that need not be explained," Spock replied.

Kirk scoffed in disbelief. "So you're asking for a personal favor, no questions asked?"

"Precisely."

Despite their long friendship, Spock had never asked for any kind of favor. Not like _this_ , anyway. And to be fair, he had asked more favors of Spock than he could count, and his friend had usually delivered.

"Yeah, ok. I'll look over your mission proposal. Unless there's anything really _weird_ in it, I don't see why not. I'll let you know for sure by first shift tomorrow."

"Thank you, captain."

"Want to stay for a drink?" he asked, glancing toward the bottle of whiskey, knowing Spock would refuse.

"Regrettably, no, I am overdue to meet with Lieutenant Uhura."

He watched Spock leave the room and tried to figure out what was going on with his first officer. He had never been able to _fully_ explain the enigma that was his half-Vulcan friend.

He picked up his PADD, closed Pike's dissertation on the _Kelvin,_ and opened Spock's mission report. He balked when he noticed the coordinates of Spock's proposed destination.

 _Spock planned to go to the site where his father's ship had been destroyed._

* * *

 **Stardate 2263.81  
1913 hours**

"I figured you would have told him by now," Dr. McCoy scolded.

Nyota sat up and smoothed her uniform down. "He had a lot on his mind yesterday. He got a delayed message from Ambassador Spock."

"I understand you want the timing to be right, but Starfleet regulations require me to notify the captain within seventy-two hours of a change in your duty status," the doctor explained.

"It's not like I work on the warp core or anything else that's radioactive or dangerous," she huffed. "I'll tell him. _I promise_. He deserves to know before anyone else."

Her hands traveled instinctively down to her belly and she felt her heart skip a beat. It still hadn't really sunken in yet.

"I'll be right back with your antibody injection," Dr. McCoy said.

This pregnancy definitely _hadn't_ been planned. Until two days ago, she hadn't even thought it was _possible_ without medical intervention. There were so few human-Vulcan hybrids, and there was nothing in the medical literature to suggest that natural conception should be possible. Even still, she had _always_ been careful.

Yet somehow in the chaotic aftermath of the events at Yorktown starbase, she'd missed her annual hormone injection, and when that was coupled with the subsequent boredom of being stuck on the station for two months and rekindling her romance with Spock, they had somehow managed to make it happen.

She didn't really know what to think. At first she was terrified there would be something wrong with the baby due to their genetic differences. She'd spent half the morning in sick bay the previous day while Dr. McCoy ran his various tests and scans, but eventually he had pronounced them both healthy. The baby was seven weeks along and viable. She would need biweekly antibody injections to protect the fetus, but things would be fine.

She'd always felt ambivalent about having children, but now that the concept was very quickly approaching reality, she felt a twinge nervous excitement. She had recently turned thirty, and many of her friends were getting married and starting families, so why shouldn't _she_?

With the terror of impending motherhood slowly transforming into anticipation, the next logical step was tell to the father. The more she tried to imagine Spock's reaction, the more nervous she became. No doubt he would approach it logically and accept it, but it would be a lot easier for her to be excited if she knew _he_ would be excited also. She didn't see him being _overjoyed_ at the news, or angry, or afraid, or _anything_. He was _Spock_.

She knew everyone else would be thrilled for her though. Her parents had long ago given up hinting at grandchildren, so this revelation would certainly be welcome to them. But she felt Spock deserved to know before anyone else, which meant time was of the essence. News traveled fast on a starship.

Soon there would be the rounds of gossip in what she lovingly referred to as the CNN, or the "Crewman News Network." The communications officer in her had to admire the ability of the crew to rapidly disseminate information when it contained salacious details about other people's private lives.

Due to the nature of her duties, she wouldn't need to be reassigned immediately: she could just continue to work on the bridge as usual. Sure, there would be no more away missions, and eventually she'd need maternity uniforms, but she could keep it quiet for a while. But certainly not _forever_.

The biggest problem was what to do after the baby was actually _born_. Starfleet didn't allow children on deep space missions, so she would have to leave the _Enterprise_ eventually. As she and Spock were not married, Starfleet had no obligation to even _attempt_ to assign them together. They could certainly make requests, but what if he wanted to stay aboard _Enterprise_? What if he requested a change of assignment and it was denied? _Then what_?

What if he wanted to get married? Did _she_ want to get married? Did they have to get married just because they were having a baby? That seemed really old-fashioned.

 _Too many questions and no answers._

The doctor returned with a hypospray.

"So you're telling him tonight, right?" Dr. McCoy urged.

"I'll do my best," she said with a wan smile, grimacing slightly as the doctor delivered the injection.

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.01  
2350 hours**

"Sir, at least let me go with you," McAvoy urged.

"I need you here working on getting in contact with the _Kelvin_ ," Commander George Kirk said, checking the power cell on the hand phaser before clipping it to his utility belt.

"Then _I'll_ go with you," Hernandez argued.

"No offense to McAvoy, but he's a terrible pilot. I'd rather have you here in case we need to leave in a hurry."

They were in orbit of a large planetoid with a minimally class M atmosphere. McAvoy had isolated the signal to a Romulan distress beacon, but they had been unable to establish two-way communication with survivors on the surface. Their long-range communication transceiver was still non-operational, and since he couldn't reach the _Kelvin_ to request additional support, he was faced with a dilemma.

Short range scans detected nine Romulan life signs on the surface, but with no way to contact them for information on their condition, they would have to beam down a team to offer short-term supplies and more carefully assess the situation. Of course, "team" wasn't exactly the right word if he was going alone.

He didn't like going into this mission with such limited information and outnumbered nine-to-one against a belligerent enemy of the Federation, but the planetoid's atmosphere was thin and cold enough that Romulans wouldn't survive there for more than a couple of days. He also had no way of knowing how long they'd already been there, so it really wasn't a choice.

He would have made a poor Starfleet officer if he chose to let nine people die just because their politics didn't line up. Romulan or not, they were _people_ and they needed help. He finished stuffing the rest of the supplies into the standard issue gray duffel bag and stepped onto the single transporter pad.

"Sir, I'd like to go on the record and say I'm advising against this," Hernandez said as he queued up the transporter's computer.

"Noted," Kirk replied. "And just in case I forget, please tell my wife I love her."

"Yeah, of course," McAvoy said, crossing his arms and looking down at the ground.

"And I mean it when I say that if there's any sign of trouble, you two get out of here, understood?" Kirk said, pointing at both of them in turn.

"Aye sir," Hernandez nodded.

Kirk figured his chances of that order being obeyed were low if push came to shove. If the roles were reversed, _he_ wouldn't leave a member of his crew stranded to secure his own safety. Still, he _had_ to say it, and they _had_ to verbally acknowledge.

" _Energize_ ," he ordered.

The fluttering sensation of his molecules being scattered was always unnerving. When he reappeared a second later on the planet's surface, he gasped.

Scans showed breathable oxygen concentration as being quite low. He'd packed a class II environmental mask, which he quickly extracted from his bag and placed over his mouth and nose. He allowed himself a moment to catch his breath, then flipped open his communicator.

"Kirk to _Kelvin shuttle III_ ," he said.

"Hernandez here," replied a crackling voice through the communicator.

"I'm on the surface, and it's pretty grim down here," he said, squinting in the dim light and looking around. The planetoid was barren and rocky with jagged hills, and the temperature was a "balmy" 3 degrees Celsius.

"I want to verify my tricorder readings," Kirk said.

"Aye sir. The life signs we're reading are less than half a kilometer away, bearing-"

The communication link died. He closed the communicator and checked it. It was still operational. He flipped it open again and called for the shuttle, still receiving no response.

He ignored his growing dread and continued to try to make contact. He sat down on a nearby rock and breathed, feeling the moisture of his breath recirculating in the mask. He was well into shivering against the cold now, and looked up through the thin atmosphere in desperation.

He noticed a faint streak of light in the sky in the corner of his vision, and his blood ran cold. He couldn't be certain, but he had a sinking feeling the burning ball overhead was his shuttle.


	3. The Rift

**Stardate 2263.88  
1830 hours**

Nyota paced outside of the astrometrics lab; she'd looked everywhere for Spock before resorting to the ship's computer to locate him here. She had _just_ worked up the courage. _Almost._ She wanted more time, but unfortunately, time was in short supply. Dr. McCoy had already given her more than a week to get this done.

It had to be _now_ , or at least by the end of the day, since Dr. McCoy said he was turning in his weekly medical logs at 1900. Her positive pregnancy test results were included in those logs, and he had made it very clear that he would appreciate not having to continue to falsify official reports because she was too afraid to tell Spock about his impending fatherhood.

Holding in this kind of news was almost making her sick. Every time they were alone together, the mood and timing had never felt right. Spock had been obviously preoccupied under his classically Vulcan façade ever since he'd gotten the message from Ambassador Spock, and each time the words made it to the tip of her tongue, they froze there and refused to come out.

All week, they had worked the same shift on the bridge together, and it had nearly driven her crazy knowing that he sat just meters behind her, completely oblivious to the major life change looming on the horizon.

She leaned up against the wall, crossed her arms, and closed her eyes against the anxiety and frustration welling inside of her. That was until she heard the familiar drawl of a Southern accent around the corner.

"Lieutenant Uhura," he grinned. "Can I submit my logs now?"

She grimaced and looked up at the ceiling.

"You know, they're due in about, oh, _thirty minutes_ ," he added, checking the time on the PADD in his hand.

" _I know_ ," she snapped, before softening her tone and repeating, "Yes, I know."

"Look," he said, lowering his voice and glancing over his shoulder as two crewmen passed by. "Spock is _logical_. He's-"

"I know what he's like," she interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Obviously I know him just a _little_ better than you do, otherwise we wouldn't be _having_ this conversation."

"Do you want me to go with you?" he asked.

" _Ugh_ , no," she moaned, rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers. "I just- I don't know."

"Computer, locate Commander Spock," Dr. McCoy sighed, crossing his arms.

"Commander Spock is in astrometrics," the computer's monotone voice replied.

"Astrometrics. _Interesting_. You know, because astrometrics is right _there_ ," he declared, pointing over her shoulder to the sign on the wall behind her. "Let me just-"

" _Stop_ ," she wailed, swatting in vain at his hand. It was too late. His finger had already hit the entry release, and the door slid open.

"I'm off to submit my logs," he smiled. "Good luck."

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and then turned to her left and entered the lab. Spock was alone, scrawling calculations on the semi-transparent screen in the center of the room. The writing was a strange, informal combination of Federation Standard English and Vuhlkansu, telling her that he was in the most preliminary stages of formulating some hypothesis.

"Hey, can I talk to you?" she said.

Her voice sounded more like a squeak, and she took another deep breath to calm her nerves. She knew it was silly to be so apprehensive about this, but Spock was... well, he was always so hard to read.

"Certainly," he replied, keeping his eyes trained on his work.

"It's kind of important," she said, struggling to keep her voice level.

"That seemed evident, as you must have used the ship's computer to locate me here and seek a conference."

 _Then_ she remembered why she was feverous. She felt her cheeks flush in irritation.

" _Spock_ , I'm-"

She hesitated. His eyes quickly darted from the screen to her and his left eyebrow rose a fraction of a millimeter.

"I'm- I'm- just wondering what you're working on," she stammered. She wanted to kick herself for being such a coward.

"I am analyzing the effects of a permanent temporal rift in the fabric of space time. Current theories are inadequate to explain the predominance of tachyon particles in-"

"I'm pregnant."

It was like the words _fell_ out of her mouth. Apparently there was nothing quite like the threat of a boring lecture on astrophysics and temporal mechanics to get her over her fear. Spock's face remained placid, but she knew him well enough to know his mind had switched into high gear. He neither spoke nor moved. The stylus in his hand was still poised over the screen, frozen in the middle of composing a Greek letter in some complex equation.

"You are certain?" he asked at last.

"Uh, well, _yeah_ ," she said, biting down hard on her upper lip.

" _How_ …" he began, losing himself in his sentence.

" _How did this happen_?" she suggested in annoyance, feeling the tears cloud her vision as she wondered why he couldn't just _try_ to seem a little less horrified. "Well, you're the ship's science officer. I know that you're not a _biologist_ , but I shouldn't have to tell you how babies are made."

She hated being so petty and childish, but her hormones had been going haywire, and this was going exactly like she'd feared it would.

"I understand the process of conception; I am only worried for your health," explained Spock. "And the health of the child."

He approached her, his face void of any expression.

"The baby is healthy," she said, failing to fight back the flow of tears. " _I'm_ healthy. Dr. McCoy says it's going to be fine. I'll be fine. We'll all be _fine_."

"'Fine' is an imprecise term," he said.

His simple but callous words sent her emotions over the edge. She tried to wipe her tears with the back of her hand and leave the room, but he quickly and gently embraced her. It was rare for him to touch her in such a tender and human way, and she buried her face into the fabric of his uniform and started to bawl uncontrollably.

"Why do you cry?" he inquired.

"Because I didn't know how you were going to take it, and I _still_ don't know," she sobbed.

He pulled her left hand from behind his back and held it in a simple Vulcan finger embrace. The sweetness of the gesture made her cry harder.

"This was unanticipated," he said. "But I am not disappointed. Children are simply part of the natural process of life."

"Then what are we going to d-"

The chirp of his communicator interrupted her. She looked hatefully at the device, but as she expected, he turned to acknowledge the call.

"Commander Spock here," he said.

"Spock, I need you on the bridge. If Lieutenant Uhura's with you, bring her too," the captain said tersely. "Kirk out."

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.02  
0300 hours**

Commander George Kirk tried lowering the oxygen intake on the portable unit to conserve power, but he quickly realized he was growing loopy from oxygen depravation. The last thing he wanted to be was delirious when he was stranded alone on a hostile planetoid.

No, not _alone_. There _were_ the nine Romulans.

He had been unable to make further contact with the shuttle. He was deeply concerned for McAvoy and Hernandez, but he did his best to push his worry aside. Worry wouldn't help him now.

He had spent the last several hours trying to observe the Romulans from a distance, but unfortunately, there was almost nowhere to hide on this tiny space rock, so he hadn't learned much. They seemed to have unusual tattoos on their faces, and all of them were suffering burns of varying degrees. A crash seemed the most likely explanation, but that was as far as he could theorize.

It was alarming that they had ended up on this side of the Neutral Zone without being detected. Starfleet had long been aware that the Romulans possessed superior cloaking technology, and if that were true, no doubt their friends were going to come looking for them. Just as the _Kelvin_ would come looking for him.

He ran the rough numbers in his head and knew that he didn't need to be particularly precise to know that the math didn't favor his survival here. The _Kelvin_ wouldn't even begin looking for the missing shuttle for another eighteen hours or so, and once they _did_ , it would take them another twelve to reach the location, and that was assuming they knew where to look, which they didn't.

He'd activated his portable emergency distress beacon about an hour ago, but the transmission range only went out to about half a light year, and the shuttle had been out of contact with the ship for so long that the search radius would be enormous. He was a needle in a field of haystacks.

His only hope was that they would pick up the stronger Romulan distress signal and investigate it, just as he had done. But that left the problem of what had happened to the shuttle. If it had been attacked or destroyed, whatever had done that might still be out there.

But then again, if there _was_ a hostile enemy ship out there, why hadn't they come sniffing around down on the planetoid's surface yet? Too many questions and no real answers. Just a lot of worry, desperate hope, and waiting to die.

He shivered bitterly, which he supposed was a good sign, as it meant he still had energy to keep himself warm. He'd donned the winter clothing he'd brought, but it didn't change the fact that his fingers were like sluggish popsicles and he couldn't feel his face at all. He was exhausted and hungry, and figured he only had another thirty hours of power left on his portable oxygen conversion unit.

His thoughts began to drift toward composing a message to Winona in the event that he didn't make it off of the planetoid alive, but his attention was quickly diverted to the presence of more Romulans materializing about a hundred meters away from him.

He lie as flatly on the ground as he could manage and then slowly turned his head to get a better view. Six Romulans had beamed down to the surface. They lacked the facial tattoos of the others and looked like they were military, based on their similar, uniform style of dress.

He knew cowering like an animal behind a few low boulders was pointless: if they'd detected the life signs of the other Romulans on the surface, no doubt they'd seen his as well. They'd sniff him out with simple technology, and all he had to defend himself against fourteen people was a single hand phaser.

He considered his options. His best chance for survival was just to come out and surrender, but he wasn't sure he liked the idea of being a Romulan political prisoner, _or_ being the catalyst for a war between the Federation and the Romulan Star Empire if he allowed himself to be captured.

It also would be dumb to just come out shooting: nine of them were injured and the others were most likely here to help. Maybe they'd quietly snuck across the border to collect their people and wanted to get back home without further incident. Attacking the people he'd initially come to help would legally border on a war crime. He didn't have much time to come up with a better plan before he heard the sounds of shouting and energy discharges.

He dared himself to look in their direction, and was astonished to see the uniformed Romulans were firing on the injured ones. They dropped like flies, and he watched one Romulan move among the bodies and check them. Two others immediately began destroying the sparse supplies and escape pods of the survivors, and less than two minutes later, all fourteen Romulans disappeared into a transporter beam.

" _What the hell_?" he muttered under his breath.

There was really no point in being quiet any longer. He was alone now, and left to wonder if he'd just narrowly escaped his death or ensured it by not coming forward to surrender.

* * *

 **Stardate 2263.88  
1850 hours**

"So Mr. Spock, tell me why it is we're steering my brand new ship toward the largest tachyon eddy ever recorded?" Captain James Kirk asked quietly, looking over his first officer's shoulder as he analyzed the anomaly. "Did you know about this?"

Spock did not immediately reply and Kirk was growing impatient. They had left Nausicaa six days ago, and he'd agreed to Spock's unusual request to survey the Azure nebula. They were still more than a day away from Spock's intended destination, but this rift was too big a discovery to ignore. He had a few lingering questions about this unauthorized mission, but he'd decided to trust his first officer's judgment. Now it seemed evident that Spock knew something that he didn't.

"A tachyon eddy of this magnitude was… _unanticipated_ ," Spock replied.

"But it _was_ anticipated?" Kirk challenged.

He kept his voice deliberately low to avoid alerting the rest of the bridge to the tension between them. He disliked flaunting his disagreements with his senior officers in front of the rest of the crew.

" _Spock_?"

"It was only hypothesized," Spock explained. "I merely wished to confirm or deny its existence."

"Hypothesized by _who_?" Kirk asked.

"That information is irrelevant to our immediate situation," Spock replied. "We need to adjust our heading before we begin to traverse it."

"Mr. Sulu, all stop," Kirk announced. "And try to avoid steering us into the big space hole."

He grinned to the helmsman as a means of joking reassurance, but the truth was, he had a terrible feeling about this. He couldn't help but wonder if the incident with Krall at Yorktown had made him overly cautious.

"A 'space hole' is an imprecise term, captain," Spock remarked. "This is a rift in the fabric of space time."

"Yeah, I figured that out from the massive tachyon readings," Kirk replied.

"Captain, if my calculations are correct, it is stable," Spock replied, finally looking over his shoulder to face him.

" _Stable_?" Kirk choked. "You're telling me that you found a permanent hole to another _time_?"

"Precisely."

"Well, what else can you tell me?"

"Very little, though I have been researching this phenomenon recently," Spock explained. "This rift is the first of its kind ever recorded."

"We've explored this sector before," Kirk argued. "It hasn't been _heavily_ explored, but I feel like we would have found it by now."

"I believe it is of both recent and unnatural origin."

" _How_ recent and _how_ unnatural?"

"Perhaps it would be better if-" Spock began, before Uhura interrupted him.

" _Captain_ , I'm picking up two faint transmissions," she announced.

" _Great_ ," he said under his breath, before adding more clearly, "Who from?"

"Distress signals. One is Romulan and the other is Federation. There's no discernible call sign on the Federation signal, and it's on an obsolete frequency."

" _Romulan_? What heading?" Kirk asked.

"The interference from the anomaly is dispersing the pattern, but if I had to guess, it's coming from the other side of the, 'big space hole,' to use your highly technical terminology."

Her tone was biting and her eyes were red: she was a portrait of dazed and angry, but he didn't have time to consider her emotional state.

"Hail them," he said.

"Belay that order," Spock interrupted.

Kirk stared at his first officer in surprise for so blatantly undermining his authority in front of the rest of the bridge crew, and was about to ask if he had lost his mind when Spock lowered his voice to explain.

"Captain, may I remind you that if those transmissions are coming from the other side of the temporal rift, it is not only a matter of _where_ they are coming from, but _when_."

The Federation was still in the process of drafting initial revisions to a temporal prime directive, following years of deliberation on ethics and debate over theories in temporal mechanics. There was currently no _specific_ regulation in place, yet he could not ignore the enormous ethical ramifications of altering time.

"Mr. Chekov, you're with me," he said. "Mr. Sulu, you have the con."

"Captain, what do you intend to do?" Spock said, following him into the turbolift.

When Ensign Chekov joined them and the door closed, Kirk simply said, "I'm going to go investigate it. There's nothing in the proposed temporal prime directive that says we can't at least take a _look_."

"Captain, you are not acting with all available information," Spock argued as the turbolift came to a halt at the shuttle bay.

"Well, walk and talk," Kirk said, stepping out of the turbolift.

"Captain, there is reason to believe the Romulan distress signal is coming from survivors of the _Narada_."


	4. The Decision

**Stardate 2263.88  
** **2045 hours**

The shuttle smoothly departed the bay into the darkness of space. Though it wasn't immediately visible through the glass, the rift was only a few thousand kilometers away. The amount of anxiety coursing through him was steadily rising.

Captain James Kirk looked at Ensign Chekov and raised his eyebrows. "Ready when you are, Ensign Chekov."

"Aye," replied Chekov, engaging the impulse engines.

He'd brought the young Russian because of his natural ability with math, astrophysics, and pretty much _everything_. Chekov filled so many roles aboard _Enterprise_ , serving as the navigator, weapons officer, and relief science officer. His annual evaluation was due, and if Kirk remembered correctly, Chekov finally met the time in service requirements for advancement to lieutenant.

"Remind me to promote you when we get back," he said, slapping him on the shoulder.

" _Aye_ ," he chuckled. "Will do."

"Well, I'm glad _he_ can laugh," Bones grumbled. "In the future, I'd appreciate being left out of your grand time traveling plans. And now that I've agreed to this, next thing you know, it'll be _worm_ holes and-"

"Isn't the medical professional in you concerned about the people sending out these distress signals?" Kirk interrupted.

That was _exactly_ why Kirk had brought him. If Spock's theory was correct, these people were almost certainly going to need medical care.

He couldn't quite wrap his head around it yet. Temporal mechanics was one of those courses at Starfleet Academy that even the instructors who _taught_ it probably couldn't pass if they were grading fairly: the amount of paradoxes and questions that time travel posed was mind-numbingly awful.

He'd spent the last hour in the astrometrics lab with Spock, listening patiently as his science officer did his best to explain his theory. Spock hypothesized that when the red matter had consumed the _Narada_ , it created and destroyed a supermassive black hole in a fraction of a second, one _so_ massive that it created a permanent rift in space time.

To get the point across, Spock had eventually resorted to comparing the _Narada_ to an old-fashioned bullet fired into a box: the point of entry was small enough to be negligible, but the point of egress was enormous and would be located at a weak position in the fabric of space. Maybe it wasn't a perfect analogy, but the main idea was that when Nero's ship disappeared into that black hole, it burst out somewhere else with a serious bang.

Apparently that "somewhere else" was _here_. Spock had further speculated that based upon the _Narada_ 's previous temporal incursion at these coordinates when it attacked the _Kelvin_ , any remains of the ship might also remerge at this location.

At _that_ point in his science officer's briefing, Kirk had made the mistake of asking how long this temporal incursion had existed if the _Narada_ had disappeared five years ago, and had watched Spock explain a number of calculations and equations that nearly made his eyes bleed before he begged him to stop.

All Spock could say was that he was eighty-six percent certain the rift led to the relational past, and based on his estimates, there was an additional seventy-two percent chance that it led to a time period within the last five hundred years. Spock's calculations had been made _before_ Lieutenant Uhura picked up the obsolete Federation distress signal, so that additional information seemingly narrowed it down to sometime within the last seventy or eighty years, based on the frequency that was being used. That only left the problem of what to _do_.

Though the _Narada_ had been destroyed, there existed a moderate possibility that the crew might have successfully deployed one or more escape pods. Without any firm directive in place, Kirk wanted to investigate the source of the signal, apprehend any _Narada_ survivors, and bring them back to Earth to stand trial.

Spock had been quick to point out that he wasn't certain there even _had_ been survivors: it was possible the signal came from _other_ Romulans. If the rift led to a point sufficiently distant in the past, the Romulan Neutral Zone may not yet exist on the other side, and the Romulans they would encounter would have every right to be there.

Kirk had insisted they at least check it out, if not for the Romulans, then for the Federation distress signal. Despite Spock's formal protest, he had loaded up Bones and Chekov into the Class 17 shuttle and headed for the rift. He ordered Spock to remain on the _Enterprise_ and continue his research into closing the distortion to prevent others from freely travelling through.

The rift was rapidly growing visible through the reinforced aluminum glass window of the forward cabin and he felt his heart beginning to pick up speed.

"So you wanna tell me why we're jetsetting into the past?" Bones growled.

"To perform search and rescue operations," he replied, choosing his words carefully.

"It's _bad_ business messing with time," Bones mumbled. "I understand that I have a duty to treat sick and injured people, but what if one of these people ends up being a psychopath or a megalomaniac in a few decades? You seem to have an _uncanny_ ability to scrape those kind of people out of the bottom of the barrel."

Kirk sneered at him and sighed.

"You _do_ ," Bones insisted. "Nero. Khan. Krall. It's like you have a magnet for villains. It wouldn't surprise me if we were going back in time to save some twentieth century Andorian dictator or-"

"You're being kind of dramatic, Bones," Kirk sighed.

"I must agree with Dr. McCoy, Keptin," Chekov nodded. "I mean about altering time. It _is_ bad business."

"I understand your reservations: I have some myself. But this is also _personal_ ," Kirk explained.

He hadn't told them the precise purpose of this mission, but as they approached the outer edge of the rift, he felt they deserved to know. They both shot him an expectant look.

"Mr. Spock believes this temporal distortion was created when the _Narada_ was destroyed, and he believes there may be survivors. That's why I brought _you_ , Bones. I'm pretty sure they're going to be a little banged up."

"Wait, _what_?" Bones roared. "That doesn't make any sense. The _Narada_ was destroyed, what? _Five_ _years ago_?"

"Time is relative, Dr. McCoy," Chekov interrupted. "What appears to be years to us may only be moments relative to individuals passing through space time, and-"

"Dammit, I'm a _doctor_ , not a temporal physicist," Bones snapped.

"And that's why I brought _Chekov_ ," Kirk interrupted with a thin smile.

"We will enter the rift in forty-four seconds, Keptin," Chekov murmured, looking to him for guidance.

"Half impulse ahead, Mr. Chekov," he ordered.

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.02  
1045 hours**

"What do you think about 'Robert' if it's a boy?" Commander George Kirk said thoughtfully. "No, erase last sentence."

He looked at the PADD in his hands. Composing his final message to Winona was proving more difficult than he'd thought it would be, especially when he considered the child he probably was never going to meet.

They had spent the last nine months sporadically discussing names, but they could never agree on anything. So many names had been put forward and tossed into the garbage heap just as quickly. She had already said 'no' to 'Robert' at least once.

 _Angela, Jason, Lily, Peter, Sarah, Michael, and Andrea: all considered, all rejected._

It would have narrowed the field down by half if Winona had given in to curiosity and found out the baby's sex, but just as with George, she was determined to be surprised. At least their first son had been easy to name, since they both liked the idea of having a George Jr. running around.

She'd been receptive to the idea of using family names, and he nearly laughed out loud at the prospect of naming this child for his own father. Tiberius Kirk. _Little Tibby._ With a name like that, they might as well just pick on him at home and save him the trouble of walking to school.

Winona's father was named Jim. _Jim_. James. James Kirk. _Not bad._ He clicked the button for the record feature on his PADD and resumed his message.

"What do you think about 'James' for a boy? You know, after your father?"

He paused his recording. _Maybe this baby would be a girl._ He had no idea what he would do with a daughter, and gulped at the thought of fending off boys when she got older. Then again, he was composing this message to his wife in the event that he didn't survive, a possibility that was becoming more likely with each passing hour. There would be no one there to chase off the boys.

He inhaled deeply into the mask to suppress the urge to cry. Sure, there was no one there to see his tears, but _he_ would know.

He and his wife were both in Starfleet, and they both knew the risks of service. There was no such thing as "safe", and no way to know when any given day would be the last. That was true regardless of one's choice to don a uniform.

His sluggish, frozen fingers trembled over the record button on the PADD, and he resumed his last message, "So I was thinking if the baby ends up being a girl, 'Charlotte' would be nice…"

* * *

 **Stardate 2263.88  
** **2126 hours**

Spock worked quietly at the science station on the bridge, training his mind to the task at hand. Even though he was Vulcan, it wasn't easy to focus at present.

In his final message, Ambassador Spock had given him a wealth of information on temporal mechanics, black hole physics, and artificial space engineering. Unfortunately, the information he'd received was a hundred years more advanced than current knowledge and theories, so his learning curve had been steep.

Spock was well versed on red matter. The substance was synthesized by the Vulcan Science Academy in 2377 from a decalithium isotope. This was common knowledge more than a hundred years before red matter was even developed, due to Nero's temporal incursion.

What was _not_ widely known, however, was _how_ the physicists at the Vulcan Science Academy had initially developed and tested the red matter. It had begun with experiments on gravity wells, but the scientists quickly realized the substance had enormous potential for also creating artificial black holes and wormholes.

When the researchers realized the full magnitude of their discovery, they chose to cease further experimentation for ethical reasons. Temporal mechanics was complicated, and being able to freely alter time was among the most dangerous abilities ever contrived by science.

One physicist called Rekan had felt so disturbed by his role in the creation of red matter that he'd devoted the rest of his life to finding methods to safely collapse temporal rifts and wormholes prior to his death five years later in 2382.

Ambassador Spock had used red matter in 2387 to destroy the supernova without permission from the Federation, Vulcan Science Academy, or research team. It was a choice that would weigh heavily on him for the rest of his life, but he'd hoped to eventually atone for his decision. Now his death made that impossible, and he'd asked Spock to take up the cause.

He had passed along what he knew of Rekan's research, and Spock had been working to make sense of it in the past week. He'd made moderate progress, but he needed more time.

Unfortunately, Captain Kirk had undertaken a fool's errand to investigate the possibility that there may have been survivors from Nero's ship. Spock had been skeptical when he read of Ambassador Spock's suspicions regarding the _Narada's_ crew, and he regretted relaying those suspicions to his captain.

The ambassador had been vague about how he came by the information that a permanent rift in space time may have formed as a result of the red matter that destroyed the _Narada_. He knew that in the years since Vulcan's destruction, Ambassador Spock had made numerous attempts to find a peaceful resolution with the Romulan Star Empire.

Tensions between the Romulans and the Federation had escalated considerably following the loss of Vulcan and both sides had been quick to point fingers, shift blame, and make pointless demands. Nero had acted alone, but there were many in the Federation who still blamed the Romulan Empire for what happened, which had the expected effect of making the already distrustful Romulans understandably even _more_ defensive.

Therefore, it seemed likely that the Romulans knew something the Federation did not in regards to the ultimate fate of the _Narada_ and this permanent temporal rift, which was a worrisome prospect. Altering time had infinite unforeseen consequences, including the possibility of writing oneself out of existence. That kind of power was dangerous in _any_ hands, but particularly dangerous in the hands of a belligerent adversary.

He had tried to relate to Kirk that retrieving the _Narada_ 's survivors from the rift, if there were any survivors at all, could have catastrophic consequences. Yet his commanding officer had been convinced that returning them to this side of the anomaly would prevent them from disrupting the past and therefore preserve the present. The field of temporal mechanics was famous for infinitely looping paradoxes, and the reality was that returning the _Narada_ 's crew to the present might be the very thing that destroyed the present as they knew it.

That was not a consequence he was eager to embrace, especially not now that he knew he was to be a father. He allowed his eyes to trail from his work station to Nyota. She was sitting stiffly in her seat, deliberately avoiding glancing in his direction.

They would have to leave _Enterprise_ prior to the birth of the child, as the ship lacked the necessary facilities to care for infants and young children. Obtaining a joint assignment in Starfleet could be a tenuous process: the organization had millions of personnel, each with valid reasons and excuses for requiring family-friendly assignments.

They could increase their chances for successful colocation by marrying, yet he'd never broached the subject with her. She'd always been fiercely independent, and he'd often gotten the sense that she viewed the human custom of marriage as a superfluous gesture of affection. He loved her, and she loved him in return. That had always been enough.

"Commander, I'm receiving a transmission from the away team," she announced, casting her eyes at him.

"Report," he said.

Her eyes narrowed and she sat up a little more straightly. She removed her earpiece and tied in the signal to the bridge intercom. The quality of the transmission was poor, and echoed as a result of the rift.

"… no sign of the Romulan distress signal. It's just _gone_. The Federation signal is stronger on this side, and we're detecting a human lifesign on a nearby planetoid. We're going to investigate."

"Captain, I would be remiss if I did not remind you that interfering with this time period may have significant and indeterminable effects," Spock replied.

"We're only going to take a look, Mr. Sp- _raise shields_!"

"Captain?" Spock replied.

"We're under att-"

The transmission cut out, and Nyota began scrambling to find the lost signal. All eyes on the bridge focused on him.

" _Sir_?" Lieutenant Sulu murmured. "What are you orders?"


	5. The Rescue

**Stardate 2233.02  
1310 hours**

They materialized onto an unfamiliar transporter pad in a poorly lit room. Captain James Kirk frantically reached for the phaser on his utility belt, but heard the sickeningly familiar sound of energy weapons charging.

"Who are you?" he asked, trying to maintain his calm. "Why have you taken us?"

He heard footfall behind him and noticed Chekov and Bones now stood beside him. There were four tall figures directly ahead in the shadows, slightly obscured by several faint, green lights. Two of them stepped forward and he realized their new friends were Romulan men and they were brandishing disruptors.

Kirk's mind raced through the various possibilities. These men didn't look like part of Nero's crew, but they _were_ Romulans, and they were on the wrong side of the Neutral Zone.

"Who are you?" Kirk demanded to know.

The Romulans glanced at each other and began speaking in hushed tones. The third Romulan came nearer, a woman, to confer with the other two. Kirk took a step forward and all three stopped speaking and took aim with their disruptors. Kirk put his hands up submissively and stepped back and declared, "You have illegally crossed the Neutral Zone and destroyed a Federation shuttle. You have committed an act of war."

One of the Romulan men considered him for a moment and went back to speaking quietly. The universal translator in his uniform either wasn't working or they weren't speaking loudly and clearly enough for it to engage. He was beginning to regret not bringing Lieutenant Uhura.

"They don't seem very friendly, Jim," Bones muttered.

"We've gotten out of worse, Bones. Let's just wait and see what they want."

" _Silent_ ," the woman barked through the veil of a thick and unusual accent.

" _Apparently they want silence_ ," he thought grimly to himself, glancing back at Bones.

The fourth man came out of the shadows and approached them. He was short for a member of his species: only about Chekov's height. Kirk leaned forward and defensively stepped back with his left leg to adopt a wider stance. This position was immediate and instinctive, but he quickly realized that posturing to fight when he was outgunned and outnumbered was a terrible idea. He was a captive on a Romulan ship, not a drunken teenager in a bar in Iowa, and he had Bones and Chekov to think about too. So he relaxed and raised his hands again in surrender and glared at the Romulans.

The fourth Romulan man took several more steps forward and removed the phaser and communicator from Kirk's utility belt, and then stripped Bones and Chekov of their equipment as well. He examined the phaser and charged it with obvious curiosity.

" _Woah_ , hey," Kirk said, eyeing the weapon. "That's not a _toy_."

The man disengaged the energy pack it and tossed it to the woman, who started looking it over with great interest while she spoke with the other two men. Kirk met Chekov's gaze. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed, but he could see the young Russian's eyes surveying the room. Kirk started doing the same, taking note of the only door directly in front of them.

They hadn't seen the warbird until it started firing on them. He knew the Romulans had unparalleled cloaking technology, which probably explained _how_ they'd snuck across the Neutral Zone, but did little to explain _why_.

It had only taken one direct hit from the warbird's disruptor to obliterate the shuttle's warp drive, shields, and phasers. The shuttle was on the verge of losing containment when they'd been beamed aboard the Romulan ship, and so it seemed almost certain the shuttle had been destroyed.

He couldn't be certain his last transmission to _Enterprise_ went through, but he knew Spock wouldn't allow a long period of communications silence to pass before he came looking for him.

His first officer might not have agreed with his choice to enter the rift, but Kirk had no doubt that Spock would attempt a search and rescue operation. All they had to do was stay alive and not do anything stupid until then. Of course, if the shuttle had been destroyed and they _were_ on a cloaked ship, it would be easy enough for Spock to assume they were dead.

"You. _Come_ ," the woman said, pointing in their general direction and gesturing for them to move forward.

They took a few reluctant steps, and she snapped, " _Quicklier_."

They were shepherded down a wide and dimly lit corridor. The construction was completely unfamiliar and he got the sense that the ship was smaller than he'd initially suspected. They passed two more Romulan crewmen in the hallway, which brought the total known crewmembers to six. They were ushered into a long and narrow room with a seventh Romulan wielding a disruptor rifle who was posted in front of a door at the opposite end.

The two men from the transporter room filed in behind them, disruptors at the ready. Kirk stared at the woman, uncertain if she was in charge. She began speaking with the shorter Romulan man, and he got the sense they were arguing. They were speaking loudly enough that the universal translators embedded in their uniforms were beginning to decipher their speech.

"… they may be killed if you put them in there," said the man.

"There is _no_ where else," the woman snapped.

"We are not here to start a war with the Federation," retorted the man. "Firing on the first shuttle was a mistake, but one that is simple to hide. Kidnapping the crew of _this_ shuttle is a mistake that won't go away so easily."

"We saved their lives. _And_ ours. Both times we were cloaked and they were on a collision course," the woman insisted.

"We should put them on the planetoid with the other human. The atmosphere is insufficient to sustain human oxygen requirements, but they will die there and it will look like an accident, and no one will know we were involved."

"They were on a small shuttle. That small shuttle probably came from a bigger ship on the other side of the rift. That bigger ship is going to come looking for them. When they analyze the debris from both the shuttles and realize it came from one of _our_ disruptors, they will discover it was no accident. Our only hope is to return them to Romulus and let the politicians handle this. They will not want a war with the Federation while we are engaged with the Klingons, and the Federation will not want a war because the are weak. They _never_ want war."

"What other shuttle are you talking about?" Kirk interrupted.

The woman sneered at him and motioned to the two men. They moved forward in several menacing steps, and Kirk, Bones, and Chekov shuffled backwards.

"We can find a peaceful resolution to this," Kirk insisted. "Taking us to Romulus will not end well."

Kirk found himself walking backward toward the door at the other end of the room while the woman and the short man continued their discussion.

"Why are you on this side of the Neutral Zone?" Kirk continued, beginning to get angry. " _What are you hiding_?"

"Prepare to leave orbit and go to warp," the woman ordered, casually at the short man.

The short man left and Kirk realized he and his crew were about to be pushed through the door two meters behind them, and he had a bad feeling about what he would find on the other side.

"You are making a _big_ mistake," Kirk shouted to her.

"Yes, I believe I probably am," she agreed, turning to follow the short man.

"Jim, this is _bad_ ," Bones said. "What are we going to do?"

The man with the disruptor rifle moved aside to open the door while the other two Romulans kept their weapons trained carefully on them.

"Unless you're curious to find out what it feels like to be lightly vaporized, we should probably do what they say," he answered.

The guard pulled the door open and chaos immediately erupted. Two tattooed figures bolted from the room: one grabbed the disruptor rifle and the other punched the guard who had been holding it squarely in the throat. He crumpled to the floor and several more tattooed Romulans emerged.

Their Romulan captors began firing their disruptor pistols at the two attackers, leaving him, Bones, and Chekov caught in the crossfire. Things started to move in slow motion. Bones was closer to him, and Kirk grabbed him by the back of his shirt to pull him to the ground. He could see Chekov slowly turning and his eyes followed the length of his outstretched arms to see Chekov was reaching for one of the tattooed Romulans who'd come from the other side of the door.

The tattooed man had the guard's disruptor rifle and was aiming it at Bones. Chekov managed to force the weapon's muzzle upward and it fired into the ceiling, but then something went wrong. Chekov contorted awkwardly, thrashed, and then flopped lifelessly onto the floor with smoke flooding from his back.

Sound began to seem distorted and there were more vibrant flashes of disruptor fire. Kirk leapt to his feet to seize control of the rifle and Bones began to crawl on his belly along the floor to reach their fallen friend. Kirk already knew it was too late.

 _They had lost. They had lost him. They had lost Chekov.  
_

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.02  
1355 hours**

"Still nothing on sensors, Commander," Sulu reported.

"Raise the sensitivity by another ten percent," Spock ordered.

They had just guided the _Enterprise_ through the rift and most of their equipment was struggling to adjust to the effects of the temporal distortion.

The computer could not accurately reflect the date, and that was affecting multiple systems throughout the ship. Spock was working to analyze small changes in space time to extrapolate a theoretical date, but thus far had only been able to narrow it down to the twenty-third century.

"I'm still reading the faint Federation signal, Commander, but nothing else," Nyota announced.

"Determine the heading of the signal's source and forward it to the helm. Mr. Sulu, lay in a course for the coordinates you receive."

"Aye, sir," Sulu acknowledged.

He did not intend to alter history by rendering assistance to anyone at the location of the distress signal, but he knew Kirk had been bearing that direction when they lost contact with him forty-five minutes earlier.

He'd briefly hesitated to take the ship through the rift. He would have preferred instead to send a second shuttle, but he sensed that time was of the essence, and deploying a second away team would take at least an hour. Everything about this present mission went against his better judgment, but his captain would come for _him_ , and so he felt compelled to honor the bonds of their friendship.

"I've isolated the signal to a source two million kilometers away," said Nyota, calling over her shoulder to the helmsman. "I just sent you the coordinates."

"Acknowledged," Sulu replied. "Laying in a course."

She removed her earpiece and massaged her forehead with both hands. He could easily detect her emotional strain, but he couldn't focus on that at present. He cancelled the calibration of the ship's clock when he received multiple error messages, and noticed Nyota watching him.

"We still have no idea what time it is, do we?" she whispered.

"Unfortunately, no," he replied.

"The work shift that never ends, because there's no telling when it even began," she sighed, returning her earpiece to her ear, before adding even more quietly, "Our captain is an _idiot_ , by the way. I love him dearly, but sometimes he makes me want to kick him."

He knew her well enough to understand that her insult was a term of endearment and her threat of violence was not serious, but intended as a means to disguise her worry. Worry was illogical. They would either find the away team or they would not.

"Commander, sensors are still a little off, but I'm detecting a planetoid a million kilometers dead ahead with a minimally Class M atmosphere and one human life sign," Sulu said.

Spock knew the ethics of this mission were about to grow exponentially more complicated. Since the away team had reported similar findings, it was unlikely that the individual in question was a member of their crew.

"Sir, I'm also picking up debris," Sulu added. "Mid range scanners are reading traces of duranium and dilithium."

He could sense the immediate shift in the mood of the bridge crew. It would be illogical to assume the shuttle had been destroyed based upon that information alone, but the evidence was certainly compelling.

"There are also three different ion trails," Sulu said.

" _Three_?" Spock replied. "Are you certain?"

"Certain? _No_ ," Sulu admitted. "Chekov normally handles this stuff."

Spock walked over to the helm to analyze the data. There were indeed three distinct ion trails: two coming from the direction of the rift and another on a perpendicular trajectory. They all intersected in orbit of the planetoid. Spock began running the data to extrapolate possible points of origin.

"Sir, we're almost on top of the planetoid now."

It was true. The dark, oblong planetoid was now visible through the glass of the bridge's viewing window and growing larger. There was a human down there, and though Mr. Sulu was still running scans on the specifics of the climate and atmosphere, it was evident few humanoid species would survive there for long without artificial life support.

"Is there any evidence of other spacecraft?"

"Nothing on short, mid, or even long range scans, sir," Mr. Sulu replied. "Just us."

He couldn't know who this person was, but it was possible he or she might be able to offer a better explanation for what had happened here. He flipped open his communicator and said, "Spock to Mr. Scott."

"Scotty here."

"Meet me in transporter room two. Spock out."

He checked the computer's analysis of the current stardate and noted it still hadn't reached completion.

"Lieutenant Uhura, you have the bridge," he said as he entered the turbolift.

He met her eyes as the door closed and noted how sad and frustrated she looked. He had found out he was to be a father hours earlier, and now he sensed he was on the verge of losing his captain and best friend. He would have much to reflect upon during his next meditation.

He met Mr. Scott in the transporter room and dismissed the two crewmen who were assigned there, hoping to keep contact with this individual as limited as possible. They were about to bring a person from another time period aboard the ship. There was no way to know for certain what the temporal effects of this simple action would be, but there was no logical means to predict the outcome of _any_ action. Time travel just added another wrinkle of complexity.

"I've got a lock, sir," Scotty exclaimed.

"Energize," Spock instructed.

The man who appeared before them seemed mildly disoriented and was wearing an obsolete portable oxygen mask. His uniform was dirty, but was clearly Starfleet issue from several decades earlier. He pulled the mask from the lower half of his face and gasped for air. His lips were tinged blue and his face bore light stubble, but he was instantly recognizable.

Astonishment was illogical, but that was the only way Spock could adequately describe his impression of the scene. Mr. Scott's jaw hung open in wonder, and he looked back and forth from the man to Spock with a searching expression.

" _Oh my God_. Oh my God, _thank you_ ," the man breathed, bending over to put his hands on his knees.

"Commander George Kirk?" Spock asked.

" _Yeah_. Wait- who _are_ you? Are you people _Starfleet_?" he asked, looking around the unfamiliar transporter room. "How do you know me?"

" _Uh_ …" Scotty murmured, looking back at Spock with wide eyes.

The communicator on Spock's utility belt chirped. " _Uhura to Commander Spock_."

He flipped open his communicator without taking his eyes off of George Kirk. "Spock here."

" _The computer just finished the stardate analysis. It's currently 2233.02_."

 _2233.02: two days before the destruction of the Kelvin._


	6. The Encounter

**Stardate 2233.02  
** **1345 hours**

Bones sat with his back against the wall, trying to process how everything had gone so _damn_ wrong. Beads of sweat flowed down his temples, matting his dark hair to his face. Jim was next to him and was shaking from anger, or maybe grief, mixed with a little guilt.

If he knew Jim like he _thought_ he did, this would haunt the man's soul for the rest of his life. It sure as hell was going to haunt _his_.

The bastards had killed Chekov. The kid had saved his life, and now he was dead. He was just a _kid_.

As a physician and Starfleet officer, he'd seen a _lot_ of people die over the years. Death never made sense, but he'd usually found a way to accept it. _Most of the time._ Not _this_ time.

Their Romulan captors had managed to subdue the escape attempt and had herded all of them into the room behind the door, which as he'd suspected, turned out to be a makeshift prison.

He didn't know what happened to Chekov's body and he wasn't sure what kind of respect Romulans showed for their dead enemies. He clinched his fists at the thought of them just tossing Chekov out of an airlock or vaporizing him in some kind of reclaimator.

He tried to catch his breath but found it was almost impossible. The cell was poorly ventilated, dimly lit, and sweltering hot. Being from Mississippi, he thought he understood hot weather, but this was an arid, lethargic kind of heat that instantly tapped his energy.

His eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the dark, allowing him to make out the features of their green-blooded cellmates at the opposite end of the room. There were eight of them, bald, with weird tattoos on their hands and faces. They were in rough shape: they all had burns, some worse than others, and several were sporting makeshift splints.

That troubled him for two reasons. First, it suggested their captors took a pretty dim view of the proper treatment of prisoners, and second, he felt professionally obligated to do whatever he could to care for their injuries. That was why the captain had brought him along, after all. He had no equipment, but he could clearly see at least one arm that was improperly set.

He felt a mild shudder in the ship and he and Jim exchanged nervous glances.

"Looks like we're moving," he said with a frown.

He felt the slight, familiar pulling sensation that could only be the engaging of a warp drive. The woman said she wanted to take them to Romulus. If that was indeed where they were headed, he got the feeling they weren't going to be offered brochures for must-see tourist attractions. The Romulans began talking very quietly among themselves, glancing sidelong and him and Jim several times.

" _Bones_?" Jim whispered.

"Yeah?"

"These people are from the _Narada_ ," he choked.

"You're sure?" he asked, even though he'd been halfway thinking it all along.

"Oh _yeah_ ," Jim seethed. "These people- they killed my father. _Vulcan_. They tried- _Earth_. Chekov."

"I know, Jim. _I know_ ," he said, trying to speak softly and reassuringly, but aware that he was having a hard time containing his own anger.

"What are you looking at?" one of the Romulans finally shouted, his voice slightly echoing through their universal translators.

" _You_ ," Jim growled. "You _murdering_ -"

"Jim, _don't_ ," Bones urged, gritting his teeth and putting his hand across his friend's chest.

He didn't have to be Spock to understand that the odds of going toe to toe with Romulans who outnumbered them four-to-one were pretty terrible, even if their opponents were moderately injured.

Despite his efforts to subdue him, Jim pushed his arm aside and got to his feet. He was astonished to see a few of the Romulans urging their friend to calm down as well, but things already seemed to be in motion. In a last ditch effort, he grabbed his commanding officer by the back of his shirt, but Jim rolled his shoulder and easily freed himself.

It was an effusion of raw emotion, obscenities, fists, and blood. In reality, it probably only lasted about fifteen or twenty seconds, but it felt like an eternity. The doctor in him could see every injury forming in real time, but it took him several seconds to snap to his senses and try to work himself between the two.

It was hopeless. Jim seemed to be lost in some parallel emotional dimension and so did the Romulan. Two of the tattooed men managed to push Jim away and tried to yank their friend back, but Jim quickly caught his balance and lunged forward, tackling him to the ground.

Jim sat on his chest and hurled a barrage of punches into the man's tattoo-covered face, which quickly grew unrecognizable. Bones tried to get his hands under his captain's armpits and drag him backward, but one of the other Romulans grabbed Jim by the throat.

Jim flailed wildly and gurgled and Bones stepped forward, not eager for a fight but certainly ready to do what he had to in order to protect his friend. The Romulan tossed him aside like a rag doll and stood protectively over his injured comrade. Jim tried to get to his feet and get back in the fight, but Bones held him firmly by the shoulders.

"He was my _friend_!" Jim shrieked. "You killed my father- you killed _billions_ of Vulcans!

"And _his_ brother, Ayel," said the Romulan said in a dangerously low voice, pointing to the man on the ground. "You killed _him_."

He turned and grabbed his unconscious friend by the shoulders and dragged him to the other side of the room.

"Jim, let's go," he Bones begged.

The captain still had a lot of fight in him, which meant the adrenaline would keep the pain at bay for a while, but he'd be in a real world of hurt soon enough. He'd bet his medical license that Jim was looking at a few cracked ribs and some facial fractures, not to mention knuckles that looked like ground meat.

Jim bent forward awkwardly at the waist. Bones thought he was falling, and moved to wrap his arms around his chest from behind to lower him carefully to the ground. Jim brushed his hands away and stooped to pick something else up instead. He held up the small object in the dim, greenish light, and Bones realized it was a piece of the Romulan's tooth.

Jim clutched it in his fist, walked back to where they'd been sitting before the fight, and flopped down unceremoniously and stared at the ground. His eyes were dead and unfocused.

Bones' specialty wasn't psychiatry, but he didn't even need a medical degree to know the man's mind was beginning to crack at the edges and was on the verge of shattering completely. If they were back on _Enterprise_ , he'd have relieved him of duty by now.

Given all that had happened, it really wasn't surprising. He'd lost the ship and half the crew just a few months ago to Krall, and now Chekov was dead and they were locked away with the people who'd killed him. _And_ his father. _And_ six billion Vulcans.

" _Bones_?"

"Jim?"

" _Everything hurts_ ," Jim gasped.

Bones knelt down on one knee and began loosening his friend's boots and visually scanning his facial injuries.

"It's hotter than-"

He'd been about to say, "It's hotter than Vulcan in here," but wisely stopped short, given the people who'd destroyed that planet were just several meters away.

"It's hotter than Mississippi in August," he corrected himself.

Jim leaned his head back against the wall and breathed deeply. Bones gently examined his right hand, noting the horrific damage Jim had done to it on the Romulan's teeth. He pulled off his blue uniform shirt and began to tear it into strips for a makeshift bandage.

"Jim, stay with me," he said, gently tapping his shoulder when he noticed his eyes were closing. "You've got to stay awake."

In the faint light, Bones could see glistening tears beginning to roll down Jim's cheeks. He had worried about his captain, his _friend_ , plenty of times, but never like _this_.

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.02  
** **1415 hours**

"Why are you looking at me that way?" Commander George Kirk asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"I do not believe I am looking at you in any specific way," the Vulcan replied.

"Well, I really meant _him_ ," he said, glancing at the blond man.

"Scott. _Scotty_ ," the man grinned, offering a weak wave. "Commander Scott. Montgomery."

"And you?" he asked glancing down at the Vulcan's sleeve insignia. " _Commander_ …?"

"I am Commander Spock," the Vulcan replied.

"Where are McAvoy and Hernandez? Are they on board? Or is there a shuttle in orbit?" he asked, feeling a growing sense of dread.

"I do not know to whom you refer. There appear to be duranium and dilithium debris signatures in orbit of the planetoid, however, and we are currently-"

" _Those bastards got them_ ," he whispered to himself, squatting down slightly and putting his face in his hands.

It had been easy to hold out some kind of hope, especially since he'd just been rescued with less than thirty minutes of minimal oxygen left, but if what Commander Spock said was true, the time for hope for his crewmembers seemed over.

"Perhaps we should get to you sickbay," Spock said, calling in his request for a site-to-site transport.

When they rematerialized in the medical bay, his jaw nearly dropped: the facilities were far more advanced than anything he'd ever seen.

"Is this some kind of prototype ship?" he turned, looking to Spock, and then glancing around at the biobeds.

"It is not," the Vulcan replied.

"And your uniform- are you with some special detachment? Why are you-"

"Hello, I'm Dr. M'Benga," interrupted a man with a melodious voice.

"Oh, _uh_ , Kirk. George Kirk," he said, turning to shake the man's hand.

The man's face froze and his arm stopped moving in the middle of their handshake. His eyes narrowed and he looked at Spock.

"Can someone tell me what's going on here?" Kirk said, the frustration forcing his voice to grow louder than he figured was appropriate. "Why are you all looking at me like I'm a ghost?"

" _Well_ , you-" Dr. M'Benga began, before Spock cut him off.

"Commander Kirk has been stranded on a planetoid with a limited atmosphere and is likely in need of medical attention," Spock interrupted.

"I'll be _fine_ ," he argued. "But I have a lot of questions."

"I understand," Spock replied. "And I shall do my best to answer them, however, you should know I am ethically and potentially legally bound to withhold certain information from you."

"Wait, _what_? Does that mean you're Starfleet intelligence, or-"

He trailed off when his eyes caught sight of the tiny digital clock over one of the biobeds: it was blinking furiously between 2233.02 and 2263.89. Spock's eyes followed his gaze and then their eyes locked. Then it all clicked.

 _The tachyon particles they'd detected in the shuttle indicative of a temporal rift, this ship's advanced technology, Spock and Scott's different uniforms that retained recognizable insignia, Spock's hesitation to answer questions…_

"You're from the future," Kirk breathed. "Thirty _years_ in the future." It sounded so ludicrous that he regretted saying it instantly. No doubt he'd get hauled in for a psych exam.

"Yes, and as a Starfleet officer, surely you can acknowledge the serious implications of discovering details about the future," Spock replied.

He started to feel numb. There had been a handful of recorded instances of time travel before and a lot of civilian speculation and conspiracy theories about the Xindi Wars, but moving through spacetime wasn't something people did every day.

"You look hypoxic," Dr. M'Benga interrupted, exchanging glances with Spock as he began examining Kirk's fingernail beds and motioning for him to sit on the nearest biobed.

"I said I'm _fine_ ," he said, pulling his hand away, doing his best to ignore his growing headache. "But I want to know what happened to my shuttle and my team, why a Starfleet vessel from the _future_ picked me up, what those-"

"Commander Kirk, I understand that you are agitated, yet I have questions I need to ask of you as well and time is of the essence," Spock interrupted. "If you will allow me to ask my questions, I believe many of your own will be answered as well."

And so they sat and talked while Dr. M'Benga performed a routine medical exam on him. Kirk did almost all of the talking, explaining about the away mission, the Romulan distress signal, and the tachyon particles they'd detected.

He told Spock about how he'd lost contact with the away team very soon after beaming down to the planet's surface, and then moments later observed the bright object overhead and assumed the shuttle had been destroyed. Lastly, he explained how he'd found the nine Romulans, gave detailed descriptions about their tattoos, injuries, and equipment, and told how six more Romulans came and retrieved them.

It was at that point that Spock quickly got on his communicator, spoke with a woman on the bridge, and stood to leave.

"Wait, what about _my_ questions?" Kirk insisted.

"I shall answer them, in time, but our ship also has a missing away team," Spock replied. "And I believe I know why."

"They're _missing_?" Dr. M'Benga blurted.

"Yes," Spock said. "If you could arrange for some temporary quarters for our guest-"

"I'm not your _guest_ ," Kirk barked. "I understand that you outrank me, _Commander_ Spock, and while I respect your position of authority on this ship, I feel entitled to some answers. I'm not going to keep you from performing your duties, but at least let me get a clearer picture of what we're _both_ dealing with."

"I am this ship's first officer, and as our captain is a member of the missing away team, that makes me acting captain," Spock replied. "I have every right to order that you be confined quarters."

Kirk blinked at him in disbelief. _Confined to quarters? Like a criminal awaiting court martial?_

"Is this because you're afraid I'll find out something about the future and change it? I have no interest in screwing with time, Commander," he explained icily. "I just want to find out what happened to my people and get back to my ship. And then _maybe_ , if there's time, find out why Romulans are playing around on our side of the Neutral Zone."

"Trust me, Commander Kirk. Returning you to your ship is of the utmost importance," Spock said calmly, before exiting into the hall. "More important even than finding my away team."

Kirk followed after him defiantly, but Spock turned to stop him. They began to argue and he was just starting to raise his voice when he noticed a young female lieutenant standing in the middle of the corridor observing them. Like Scott and M'Benga, she was staring at him with her mouth slightly open in an expression of wonder.

" _What_?" he exclaimed, extricating himself from his conversation with Spock to address her.

He couldn't believe he was being so rude, but this Vulcan was really starting to get on his nerves. Still, that wasn't _her_ fault, and he felt a slight sense of shame. She didn't answer, and Spock turned around to acknowledge her.

"Lieutenant Uhura?"

"Sir, I've been trying to hail you on your communicator, but you weren't answering," she stammered, without taking her eyes off Kirk. "I'm guessing your transmit button is stuck again. You're needed on the bridge, sir."

"I am on my way now," he replied, turning back to Kirk and urging him to remain in sickbay.

"What would _you_ do?" Kirk pleaded. "If it were _your_ people? If you were _me_? I don't want to just put my feet up in some cozy senior officers' quarters."

The woman's communicator chirped and she answered it.

"I appreciate the difficulty of your position, Commander Kirk," Spock replied, his tone firm. "Yet your very presence on this ship threatens the future from which we come."

"How can you know that?" he argued.

"I cannot explain without-"

"Commander, they've just finished analyzing the debris," interrupted the woman he'd referred to as Uhura. "It was like you said: Romulan disruptor fire. But they only found two distinct DNA sequences in the debris field. M'Benga is running scans to see if they match Dr. McCoy, Chekov, or Captain Kir-, _um_ , the captain."

"Captain _Kirk_?" Kirk queried, raising his eyebrows and looking carefully at Spock and Uhura. "Is that what you were going to say?"

She closed her eyes in what he assumed was frustration at her own mistake, but she said nothing.

"Is _that_ how everyone seems to recognize me?" he demanded. "Am _I_ the captain of this ship?"

"No," Spock answered.

"Then _what_?" he shouted.

"I don't see how you can keep him on this ship _and_ keep him from finding out," Uhura breathed, looking at Spock.

"Finding out about _what_?" Kirk snapped.

Spock was silent for several moments, gazing distantly at the wall. Kirk looked back to Uhura expectantly and she opened her mouth to speak, but Spock interrupted her.

"Our captain is your son."


	7. The Plan

**Stardate 2233.02  
** **1530 hours**

"So, do you have kids?" George Kirk asked, right before he stuffed a heaping spoon of scalloped potatoes into his mouth.

"Uh, _no_ ," Nyota replied with a thin smile. " _Very_ soon though."

"Oh, you mean?" he pointed toward her stomach with his spoon.

She forced herself to suppress the grin and nodded. She hadn't had a lot of time to stop and think about it lately.

"Well, congratulations," Kirk beamed. "Me and my wife, Winona, we're expecting our second."

" _Yeah_ ," she nodded, taking a small bite of her own potatoes.

"But I guess you already knew that," he added with a dismissive chuckle.

Spock had put her in charge of "handling" George Kirk while he returned to the bridge to analyze the debris and attempt to find a way to search for a cloaked Romulan vessel with Scotty. As soon as she heard what he'd been through in the last several days, she'd suggested they get some food, and he had gratefully agreed.

Aside from the two of them, the mess hall was empty. Though it was technically mid-afternoon on this side of the rift, it was closer to midnight in their own time, and Spock had refused to adjust the crew schedules to reflect the change, citing it would create chaos over a change that was anticipated to be temporary.

She was finding it difficult to stick to neutral topics that didn't involve his son, his family, the _Kelvin_ , or the act that had written him into the history books and spawned a number of monuments in his memory around Starfleet Academy and the whole of the Federation. George Kirk had initially insisted on helping the bridge crew find the missing away team, given Spock had admitted that his son was among them.

Spock had been quite firm in his refusal and after some more heated words, Kirk had reluctantly agreed to keep out of it and had promised Spock that he wouldn't intentionally seek out information about the future, so long as Spock agreed to share any new information about the missing crewmen of the _Kelvin_.

Despite their gentleman's agreement, it was now her job to keep him away from the ship's computers, and keep other members of the crew away from him. Kirk wasn't stupid: he _had_ to know she wasn't there just to provide friendly company, but he seemed to be understanding that she was only doing her duty.

"So, do you serve with your husband?" Kirk asked.

" _Oh_ , I'm not married," she replied quickly. "But the baby's father- we serve together."

"It's rough, isn't it?" Kirk laughed. "Me and Winona met in our last year at the Academy and started 'officially' dating when he both got assigned to the _Kelvin_. She's been toying with the idea of leaving Starfleet when this baby is born, which would be a mixed blessing. I'd know she was safer, but I'd miss her like crazy. Of course, we _both_ miss George Jr. to pieces. He's with her mom and we've both been away for more than half of his life. Some days, it makes _me_ want to leave Starfleet."

Nyota chewed her food thoughtfully. She understood _exactly_ where he was coming from and felt a bit dismayed to realize trying to balance parenthood with Starfleet would be a battle she'd fight for the rest of her career. An uncomfortable silence was brewing that she felt compelled to end, especially when they made eye contact.

"I didn't know your wife was in Starfleet," she mumbled.

"Do you know my wife?" he asked, before shaking his head. "Actually, _no_ , I shouldn't be asking you that. I'm not trying to put you on the spot and get you in trouble. Besides, I made a promise to your first officer."

"Thanks," she said. "It's hard finding things to talk about with you that- well, _you know_."

" _Yeah_ ," he agreed, wiping his mouth with a napkin and setting his silverware down. "Well, anyway, my wife is a logistics officer. I wish she had put in for a planetary assignment this time around, given our mission was extended and it isn't exactly routine. The thought of our baby growing up in a Klingon prison if things went bad wasn't a huge selling point for me, you know? But her mind was made up, and I could sooner change the tide than change Winona's mind when she's set it to something."

Nyota grinned and finished the last bite of her food. "Do you ever regret staying in Starfleet after your son was born? I hope that's not too personal of a question, I just-"

"You're just wondering if _you're_ going to regret it?" he finished with a crooked smile.

" _Yeah_ ," she confessed.

"I regret it every day," he said, his voice quiet and serious. "But I know if I stayed home, I'd regret not being out here. It's a real Catch-22. The only deciding factor in choosing space over my family was knowing that I could be making a real difference out here, not just for _my_ family, but everyone's families. Someone has to be out here doing this stuff, you know? This can't only be a job for people without kids."

"That's true," she agreed.

"But, if you'll allow me to offer another little piece of advice: treasure your family. _Always_. You have no idea when it's going to be the last time you get to see them. The last couple of days really put some things into perspective for me."

His words pierced her heart like a blunt knife. She sensed he was referring to his two missing crewmen, or perhaps his own recent brush with death down on the planetoid. The truth was cruel enough, but keeping it from him was worse. She felt tears forming in her eyes and hated her haywire hormones.

" _Hey_ ," he said, reaching out to gently touch her elbow. "I didn't mean-"

He was interrupted when Spock entered the mess hall.

"Commander Kirk, we have analyzed the biological residue on the debris found in orbit of the planetoid. It does not belong to any member of our away team. We do not have the DNA of your missing crewmembers on file for comparison, but it is logical to conclude that they have likely perished."

Nyota shot Spock an apprehensive look, mentally begging him to say something a little more comforting, or at least a little _less_ indifferent.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," she said, both on her behalf and on Spock's.

Kirk didn't immediately respond, but nodded slowly. "Well, good news and bad news, huh? I'm going to have to write two awful letters to their families, but I guess that means my son is still alive. _Maybe_. Right?"

"Commander Kirk, my highest priority is returning you to the _Kelvin_ ," said Spock.

"But you're going to send someone to look for _your_ away team, right?"

" _I_ am in command this ship and I am fully capable of assessing current mission requirements," Spock replied.

Nyota sensed they were getting ready to exchange more tense words and she was amazed by just how alike father and son really were, especially considering they'd never met. To say that the relationship between the captain and Spock had some really rough moments early on was putting it mildly. Following James Kirk's dogged questioning of Spock's authority, Spock had marooned him on Delta Vega and then beat him senseless on the bridge when he'd snuck back aboard. Now they were the closest of friends, close enough to occasionally make her feel slightly jealous.

"No, _you're_ not listening!" Kirk shouted, snapping her back to their conversation. "He's my son! I realize I'm not a member of your crew, but I want to be on that away team. You were willing to let me die on that planetoid: you said so yourself. What difference does it make if I die in a rescue attempt?"

"It makes a marked difference," Spock countered.

Nyota could sense agitation brewing beneath Spock's outward calm, or what passed for agitation in her Vulcan boyfriend. She gave him a firm smile. If George Kirk was anything like his son James, Spock would be wise to give in now.

"Sir, I've got it!" Scotty cried, trotting into the hall. The three of them turned to see the chief engineer waving a data PADD in excitement.

"I found a way to track biosigns on a cloaked Romulan ship," the Scotsman beamed.

"You are certain?" Spock replied.

"Aye," Scotty insisted. "I don't have a lot of time to explain it. There's more bad news than good, I'm afraid."

" _Which is_?" Kirk probed.

Spock gave Kirk an admonishing look for getting involved, but Scotty quickly prevented another session of bickering when he said, "I can only see two human life signs, and I lost them just minutes after I picked them up on mid range scans. It looks like they went back through the rift."

* * *

 **Stardate 2263.89  
** **0048 hours**

Captain James Kirk was drifting in and out of consciousness. His face was swollen, there were shooting pains in his chest when he breathed too deeply, and his hands had been reduced to bloody stumps. Even his earlobes seemed to hurt.

He was angry with himself for losing his temper and putting Bones at risk: he hadn't flown of the handle like that in _years_. Bones had tried to downplay it, citing all kinds of excuses like "grief" and "justifiable rage over genocide." Maybe that was true, but he'd learned the hard way on more than one occasion that keeping a cool head was pretty much _always_ the better way to go. Spock would certainly agree with that sentiment.

Bones was with the Romulans, trying to treat their injured personnel. That simple act of consideration made Kirk equal parts angry and grateful. A small part of him still wanted to fight every Romulan in the room, but the older, wiser part of him knew peace was a better option. Bones was a doctor, fulfilling his oath to care for the sick and wounded, no matter who they were or where they'd come from.

Besides, they didn't look like they had any fight left in them. All but one had actually tried to _avoid_ a confrontation. He looked down at the piece of tooth in his hand and tossed it away in shame. If he wanted to be objective, he couldn't blame them for wanting to escape from this roasting hole of a prison. They hadn't actually killed Chekov, not _technically_. He clenched his jaw.

It had been the disruptor pistol from one of the other Romulans that had hit Chekov in the back: the young ensign had only been caught in the crossfire. An _accident_. But not _really_ an accident.

Chekov wouldn't have been here at all if he'd listened to Spock and left well enough alone. He took a deep breath and winced from the pain that radiated from his chest. He needed to focus on the here and now: there would be plenty of time left for mourning, what-ifs, and self-blame later.

He tried to prop himself up on his hands to stand up and almost yelped from the pain. Eventually, with a lot of discomfort and grunting, he made it to his feet and slowly approached the people on the other side of the room. The man who'd grabbed him by his throat stood menacingly, and their eyes locked. Jim felt a tiny surge of aggression and anticipation course through him that was quickly overcome with contrition.

" _Woah_ , Jim. What are you doing?" Bones asked, moving toward him his his hands outstretched.

"I want to bury the hatchet, so to speak," he replied, without taking his eyes off the Romulan in front of him. "For _now_. I'm James Kirk, captain of the starship _Enterprise_."

The other Romulan didn't immediately reply, but looked at him with a questioning sneer.

"I am sorry for your friend," Kirk added, darting his eyes in the direction of the man he'd fought with earlier who was propped up against a support pillar and wheezing.

"Why should we accept your apology?" the Romulan snapped.

" _Look_ ," Bones interjected. "There's a lot of anger to go around here. Let's not get into who's done what and which is worse. Tell my captain what you were telling me."

The tall Romulan looked at Bones skeptically and then back at Kirk. "My name is V'Kal. I am chief engineer of the _Narada_ , or _was_ , before you destroyed it."

"You were going to destroy my plan-"

" _Stop_ ," Bones shouted. "Look, I'm running out of makeshift medical supplies here. And we need to come up with a plan."

V'Kal scowled and looked back at Jim. "Most of us never wanted to destroy Earth. _Or_ Vulcan."

Jim bit his tongue to hold in the many things he wanted to say and instead crossed his arms and did his best to listen.

"Nero was the captain of the _Narada_ because he got results for the Empire, but he was not fit to be captain of a ship. When we heard news that Romulus had been destroyed, that was very difficult for all of us bear, but Nero- he went completely mad. He swore vengeance on Ambassador Spock, but then he killed the captain of that Federation ship-"

"His name was Richard Robau," Kirk interrupted, trying to keep his tone neutral. "He was captain of the _Kelvin_."

V'Kal nodded in acknowledgment and continued, "When Captain Robau was killed, most of us were ready to mutiny. When we learned we had returned to a past where Romulus once again existed, we thought we could peacefully return to our home planet and find a way to save it from the supernova in the future."

" _Peacefully_? I thought Romulans _preferred_ war," Kirk interjected coolly.

"My people respect and admire power and are not afraid of war to achieve and sustain it, but we are not _animals_ ," V'Kal said angrily. "War is _expensive_ , and it is wasted on personal vengeance. I've lost whole branches of my family to the Klingons, Cardassians, and Dominion. Many of those wars were necessary, but not _all_."

Kirk was floored. He never thought he would hear a Romulan advocating for giving peace a chance every now and again.

"But there was no time for the mutiny to be successful," V'Kal continued. "Nero sealed off the bridge and many of the engineering decks during his attack on the _Kelvin_ , and most of the crew was powerless to stop him. As you know, the _Kelvin_ was destroyed in its desperate attempt to stop us, but the collision took most of our systems offline. Wisely fearing another attempted mutiny, Nero refused to allow anyone into engineering and we were adrift when the Klingons located us.

"The forty-seven destroyed warbirds," Kirk murmured, recalling the events leading up to the Battle of Vulcan. "That was _you_ escaping from Klingon captivity?"

"We spent twenty-five years in the Klingon penal colony of Rura Penthe," V'Kal replied with a solemn nod. "Twenty-five years is a _long_ time to forget about peace and grow angry. When we finally escaped, we found Ambassador Spock and seized the red matter, and I believe you know the rest of the story."

Kirk looked toward Bones, and then examined the other Romulans in the dim light of the cell. They were all listening with rapt attention.

"The people you see here," V'Kal said, motioning to his men, " _We_ still mutinied. We had less support from the rest of the crew after so much time, and Nero killed most of our number. He left _us_ alive because he knew he would need us to operate and maintain the ship in the future, but he still kept us imprisoned while he destroyed Vulcan and launched his attack on Earth. We only survived because the brig was located so near the escape pods."

Kirk wasn't sure what to say, but found he was having difficulty in looking V'Kal in the eye.

"There's _more_ , Jim," Bones muttered.

"Yes," V'Kal added. "These _other_ Romulans, I believe they are with the Tal Shiar."

Kirk gave him a puzzled look, prompting V'Kal to add, "An elite Romulan intelligence agency. They only report to the highest levels within our government."

For the first time since their imprisonment, the gears of Kirk's mind began to turn more tactically. They knew very little about their Romulan captors, including what time period they came from, what their mission was, why they had crossed the Neutral Zone, or what they'd expected to find when they started looking around a remote planetoid.

"They know who we are," V'Kal replied, almost as if he was reading Kirk's mind. "We were briefly questioned before they put us in here. They know about the attack on the _Kelvin_ , Vulcan, and Earth. They implied that at some point in the future, there is going to be a devastating war between the Romulan Star Empire and the Federation as a result of what we have done. I believe they are trying to prevent it."

He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as his mind raced through the possibilities. Bones had been right. Messing with time was _very_ bad business indeed.

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.02  
** **1605 hours**

Spock stood on the bridge, willing his mind to be still. They would only have thirty-four hours to locate the missing away team and return George Kirk to the _Kelvin_. The crewmen were in the shuttle bay, running the last of the preflight inspections on the shuttle.

Mr. Sulu and Mr. Scott were already down there and standing by for orders. He would need his chief engineer to locate the cloaked Romulan ship, and wanted the best pilot available in the event that they encountered resistance. He still felt conflicted about allowing George Kirk to travel with them on this mission, but Nyota had privately convinced him to grant this small concession during their walk back to the bridge together. Commander Kirk was now standing quietly by the door to the turbolift, looking around the modern bridge in curious wonder.

He'd been prepared to throw the man in the brig and beam him directly from captivity back onto the _Kelvin_ without further explanation, but it seemed logical to conclude that an alternate series of events was already in motion due to Commander Kirk's response to the Romulan distress signal. Furthermore, he could not deny that he possessed invaluable knowledge about the Romulans they were seeking.

Spock would attempt to preserve history as best as he could, but he had to acknowledge it was perhaps already too late. While Nyota had kept Kirk occupied in the mess hall, he'd finally finished deciphering Rekan's work and had found a way to collapse the permanent tear in the fabric of space-time, and all he could hope for was to minimize the damage of this most recent temporal incursion.

"Scotty to Commander Spock: ready when you are, sir."

"Acknowledged," he replied. "I am en route."

"Lieutenant Uhura, I believe that leaves you in command," Spock added, looking steadily at her.

"Aye, sir," she nodded.

He could sense she was deeply worried about his choice to go on this mission, but as the ship's science officer, he was among the most qualified to assist Mr. Scott in locating and boarding the ship. He saw her mouth silently form the words "I love you," and he felt acutely aware of just how much he loved her too.

"Lieutenant, this PADD contains the necessary information for collapsing the temporal rift," he said, handing her the device.

She hesitated to take it, and he sensed the superstitious part of her human nature at work, illogically believing that taking possession of the PADD would cause bad luck to befall the second away team. Still, she sighed and nodded, taking it firmly and brushing her fingers discreetly against his in the Vulcan practice of ozh'esta. They would have much to discuss when he returned.

He turned to meet George Kirk in the turbolift, and just before the doors closed to take them to the shuttle bay, he noticed how lovely she really was as she anxiously took a seat in the captain's chair. He noticed George Kirk was looking at him strangely, but quickly glanced up innocently at the ceiling, clearly putting in extraordinary effort to suppress a smile.

"She's a great woman, that Lieutenant Uhura," Kirk said with a nod. "I can tell she'll be a great mom."

"That is not a matter I wish to discuss," he replied.

"Still," Kirk added with a smile. " _Congratulations_."

Spock looked at him curiously, nodded slightly, and simply said, "Thank you."

"You know, once you become a parent, you realize there's almost nothing you wouldn't do for your kids," Kirk mused as the doors to the turbolift opened into the shuttle bay.

Spock paused. All he had said was, "Our captain is your son." He'd never specifically identified _which_ son, and therefore George Kirk seemed unaware that Spock was referring to a son he'd never met.

It would seem illogical to care so deeply for a child one had never known, until Spock thought of Nyota and the child she was carrying. He would have to reflect more on that later, but for _now_ , Mr. Sulu and Mr. Scott were waiting for them in the shuttlecraft.


	8. The Meeting

**Stardate unknown**

"You want me to do _what_?" Bones growled.

"Your part in this is really small by comparison," Jim said, not even bothering to disguise the exasperation in his voice. "And keep it down. We don't know if they're listening."

"I'm more _exposed_ than anyone else," he hissed, ignoring the captain's suggestion.

"Ok, _maybe_ , but-"

"You've lost your mind," Bones interrupted.

People often told him he had a tendency to overreact and in the back of his mind, he thought it was probably true, but this seemed like _suicide_.

"Are all humans this cowardly?" V'Kal asked.

" _Hey_ , there's a difference between careful and cowardice," Bones retorted.

"You can be careful when you are dead," V'Kal replied, crossing his arms and looking at him. "Which is what you will be if you refuse to comply."

"Is that a _threat_?"

"It is an observation," V'Kal replied. "The Tal Shiar aren't known for their hospitality."

Jim massaged his temples and instantly winced from the pain in both his hands and face. "Bones, you're the least injured person here."

"Yeah, _that's_ because-"

"And I realize that's partly my fault," Jim barked. "I shouldn't have gone picking a fight. But we have to find a way out of here. And Maiek's plan is the best one we've heard so far."

Bones glanced at Maiek, the surly Romulan squatting behind V'Kal, who was still analyzing the tiny strip map of the ship he'd made in grease on the floor. It felt insane to put his trust in these Romulans after everything they'd done. It was stranger still to trust Maiek, who claimed to have family in the Tal Shiar, which he'd explained was a ruthless intelligence agency back on Romulus. To Bones, that seemed like a pretty damn good reason _not_ to trust him.

Maiek proposed that Bones should approach the door of the cell and attempt to get the attention of the guard under the pretense of wanting medical supplies. Maiek assumed that because the doctor wasn't Romulan and didn't know the proper etiquette of prisoner behavior that the guard might at least open the door to investigate if Bones were persistent enough, and an open door was all they needed. But Maiek had also told him that a light beating was probable, and he wasn't exactly eager to look like Jim.

Maiek wanted to wait several hours until the guard was near the end of his shift and therefore likely to be more complacent, but V'Kal and Jim had argued against this. They didn't know where they were being taken, and the longer they waited, the further away they would get from the _Enterprise_ 's help.

The biggest elephant in the boiling hot room was that they had yet to discuss what would come after. If they were successful in seizing control of the ship, he and Jim were outnumbered and unfamiliar with Romulan technology, and they didn't know where, or _when_ , they were.

Romulans were known for their fluid loyalty and these Romulans in particular didn't have a great track record of good character. He wanted to believe their story about the insurrection against Nero, but he just couldn't be sure. If it was true, that meant they turned against their previous captain, which made them traitors. But was it a _bad_ thing to be a traitor against a murdering madman like Nero?

He didn't have time to ponder the finer points of philosophy and duty. He noticed everyone was looking at him in anticipation.

"Yeah, ok, let me get some water. Collect my thoughts. Then we'll go over this again and get it done, ok?"

V'Kal scowled and nodded. Bones gently touched Jim on the shoulder to indicate that he wanted a private word.

The Romulans had provided a large metal drum that was half full of what he _hoped_ was potable water. They had even been so "thoughtful" to give them a small, dented steel cup to scoop it out with, rather than subject them to the indignity of having the drink out of the drum like horses at a trough.

"You look _terrible_ ," he grumbled.

"You said that already," the captain replied. "And if it makes you feel any better, I _feel_ terrible."

"Physically or mentally?"

"Yes," Jim replied darkly.

"Do you really think this is the best choice?" Bones whispered.

"The best one we've got, I guess," Jim said, turning his back to the Romulans for added privacy. "I don't think we can trust these people, but I _know_ we can't trust the other Romulans. It's a rock and a hard place."

Bones took a deep drink of the warm water and poured some over his face before handing the small cup to Jim. They were both rapidly growing dehydrated in the heat of the cell, but at least that was one medical problem he _could_ solve.

"I just don't see how we're going to peacefully part ways after this, you know?" Bones muttered. "They have no reason to keep us alive when this is over. What are _our_ plans for when this is through? We came through the rift to _arrest_ them, and now we're just going to pretend we're all buddies?"

"I'm not saying it's not complicated," Jim said. "But we can't just do nothing."

"Are you done relaxing?" V'Kal prodded, approaching the water drum.

"Yeah," Jim said, breaking eye contact with Bones to acknowledge the Romulan.

"I guess we're just gonna do this then," Bones said, rolling his eyes and taking a last sip of water before tossing the cup into the drum. He was beginning to get a bad taste in his mouth.

"That's the spirit, Bones," Jim said with a pained grin.

Bones joined V'Kal and Maiek by the door. They stood back slightly in the shadows: it would be their job to subdue the guard and retrieve his weapon once Bones lured him into the cell. He paused for a moment to reflect on all the poor life choices that had led to this moment.

"We are only waiting on _you_ ," Maiek grumbled.

"Yeah, _yeah_ ," Bones sighed, taking a step forward.

" _Hey! Hey you! I'm a doctor, and I have people in here who need help_!" he began to yell, pounding on the door with his fists.

* * *

 **Stardate 2271.64**

"You know, we should really pick one side of the rift and stick to it," Scotty murmured as he struggled with the shuttle's systems to register the correct time and date.

"As I'm sure you are aware, Mr. Scott, it was not my decision to initially travel through the temporal rift," Spock replied. "And as I explained, there are no exact 'sides' to the rift."

"Right, a superhighway through time," Scotty grumbled.

"Scotty, I _need_ your analysis on their warp signatures," Sulu interrupted. "We're completely exposed here."

" _Aye_ ," the Scotsman sighed.

They had been hidden from the Romulans by the distortions in the temporal rift, but had exited the anomaly just minutes ago. Mr. Sulu was attempting to precisely maneuver the shuttle into the Romulan ship's ion trail to minimize their chances of detection on their short-range sensors, but since the ship was cloaked and the pattern of the ion trails was unfamiliar, the task was proving difficult.

Spock took over for Mr. Scott so the latter could assist the helmsman, and noted the temporal readings were strange and erratic. He began running the same extrapolation program that had worked aboard the _Enterprise_ , and waited for the results.

"Is there anything _I_ can do, Commander?" George Kirk asked from the jump seat behind him.

"I could use someone's help on weapons systems while Scotty and I get this figured out," Sulu interjected before Spock could respond. "I know they're a little more advanced than what Commander Kirk is used to, but phasers and torpedoes still aim and shoot pretty much the same way."

Spock acknowledged Mr. Sulu's logic was sound, especially given they were tracking a much larger, more heavily armed, cloaked Romulan vessel. He motioned for Kirk to move forward to the computer console next to him.

"So, why is it so hard to get a lock on the date?" Kirk asked as he began familiarizing himself with the weapons systems. "Shouldn't we just be going back to your time? What was it… 2263?"

"Not precisely, no," Spock said. "I have calculated that the rift _does_ end at stardate 2233.01, by our relative measure of time, but as I'm sure you're aware, time is not linear. The rift extends to an unknown point beyond the time from which we come."

"So we're in _your_ future now?" Kirk asked.

"Not necessarily," Spock explained. "We could also be in our relative past, just at a later date than 2233.01."

"I think we've got it, sir," Scotty cried triumphantly. "Of course there's no way to know, unless the Romulans start shooting at us."

"Let us hope that they do not," Spock replied. "Mr. Sulu, what is our current heading?"

"918-mark-29," he answered with a grimace. "Almost a straight shot toward the Neutral Zone, and on a direct course to Romulus. We're currently matching their speed. The rest is up to you and Scotty, sir."

"I'm still reading two human life signs aboard," Mr. Scott explained. "I think beaming them back might be a little tricky though. It was hard enough finding them through the Romulan cloaking shield."

Spock turned his attention to Mr. Scott. He noted he often failed to give the _Enterprise_ 's chief engineer credit for his remarkable talents.

"You see, I can _detect_ them, but I think if we pull them back, the differential of being at warp and their cloaking device will scatter the beam too much and we'll lose them," Scotty explained.

"You can transport at warp?" Kirk asked, his voice heavy with astonishment.

"We have made many advances in the past thirty years, Commander Kirk," Spock explained.

"Yeah, I get that, but have you thought about manually boosting the frequency of the compensators to match the frequency of the cloaking shield to give some added stability to the matter stream?"

" _Aye_ ," Scotty said, slowly forming a smile. "That _might_ work."

Spock turned to examine Kirk with mild surprise. Kirk added, "I get that I'm a practically a dinosaur here, but I still know a _few_ things."

Spock began working with Mr. Scott to make the necessary adjustments to the transporter. It was slow going and calibration was proving difficult, because boosting the compensators lowered the distance at which a target lock would be effective.

"Can you get us any closer, Mr. Sulu?" Scotty urged.

"Um, we're already kind of pushing it," Sulu responded. "I'm surprised they haven't detected us yet. Hiding in an ion wake only works for so long, you know."

Spock's computer terminal beeped, alerting him that it had completed the analysis of the stardate. It was 2271.64: they were nearly eight years in the future, based on their temporal vantage point. He didn't have time to stop and ponder the implications. Mr. Sulu was correct: they should have been discovered by now, and they needed to act quickly.

"If we can get within two thousand meters, we have an eighty-four percent chance of successfully beaming back the two human life signs," Spock said to Mr. Sulu. "It is logical to act now, while we still have the element of surprise. Take us in, helmsman, and Commander Kirk, standby with weapons."

The shuttle accelerated and Spock's fingers hovered over the toggles for the transporter while Mr. Scott anxiously watched the computer for the optimal target lock.

"We're there!" Sulu shouted.

Spock started to initiate the transport when Mr. Scott yelled, " _Wait_! I cannae- there's- I lost the specific lock on the human biosigns!" Mr. Scott's fingers began to frantically trace across the computer screen, trying to narrow the target.

"Mr. Scott," Spock said, raising his voice by several decibels.

"The Romulan ship is charging their disruptors," Sulu warned, turning to glance at him.

" _Now_ , Mr. Scott," Spock ordered.

"But I cannae differentiate the two humans from two other Romulans!" he cried.

"Then beam them _all_ back and ask questions later," Commander Kirk yelled, charging the shuttle's phasers to prepare for a fight.

"Do it, Mr. Scott," Spock commanded, pulling the hand phaser from his utility belt and taking aim at the transporter pad.

" _Oh_ ," the Scotsman breathed. "Here goes nothing. _Energizing_."

The shuttle shook violently as they took a direct hit from the Romulan ship. "Shields down to sixty-one percent!" Sulu yelled. "The Romulans have uncloaked and dropped out of warp and they're coming about!"

"Locked on with phasers," Kirk replied.

"Fire at will, Commander," Spock answered, just as the bodies of four individuals began to materialize on the transporter pad.

Pandemonium broke out in the shuttle's small cabin. Spock promptly stunned a large Romulan with a disruptor rifle and Dr. McCoy fell on top of his unconscious body in a flurry of swear words. Captain Kirk was on his back and badly injured and there was a second Romulan just behind him on his hands and knees. Spock began to take aim but paused: the Romulan was helping his captain to his feet.

"Great timing Mr. Spock!" James Kirk yelled.

Spock didn't have time to process the scene, because the shuttle shivered from a second impact. "Shields down to forty percent!" Sulu announced.

"I don't know how, but they're siphoning off the power to our phasers," George Kirk shouted. "Preparing to arm photon torpedoes."

"Get us out of here, Mr. Sulu," Spock ordered.

The helmsman didn't need to be told a second time. Spock had kept his weapon trained on the second Romulan; he could not quickly and logically understand what was before him. The Romulan bore the same distinctive facial tattoos as the members of Nero's crew. The man noticed Spock and the weapon he was holding and slowly began to raise his hands in angry surrender.

"Spock, put that thing down," Dr. McCoy grumbled as he dug through the shuttle's medical supplies.

"Yeah, he's with us. No time to explain," James Kirk said, making his way to the empty computer console next to George Kirk.

"What about my crew?" the Romulan yelled after him.

"Where is Ensign Chekov?" Spock asked.

"Ensign Chekov didn't make it," Dr. McCoy replied bitterly, flinging a handful of dressings across the cabin in his efforts to reach something at the bottom of the medical kit.

"Scotty, is there any way to get a remote lock on seven Romulans in the exact location you just beamed us out of?" James Kirk called over his shoulder.

"Wha- you want me to bring _more_ of them on board?" Mr. Scott yelped.

"Yeah, it's not like it sounds. Do it!" James Kirk snapped. "Do it!"

"But I- but I! You're _mad_!" the engineer shouted, turning back to the transporter console.

"We're about to enter the rift," Mr. Sulu called. "The Romulans are closing in on us."

Spock had many questions, particularly about the tattooed Romulan and the captain's surprising familiarity with him, but determined that James Kirk almost always had a good reason for giving an order, even if it made no immediate or apparent logical sense. He would get answers later, but for now, things were quite dire. Spock swiftly moved to the computer terminal next to the helm and hailed the _Enterprise_ to tell them to prepare for an engagement with the Romulan ship.

"Their shields are up!" Mr. Scott yelled, his tone soaked in frustration. "I cannae get a lock with the modifications that we made! I mean I _can_ , but it's gonna take _time_."

The shuttle jolted again slightly as they entered the rift. Spock rose from his chair to assist Mr. Scott in his desperate attempt to re-modify the transporter. The scene before him was utter chaos.

Bones was tending to the unconscious Romulan on the ground, the tattooed Romulan and Mr. Scott were starting to argue furiously about the possibility of rescuing the seven aforementioned Romulan crewmembers, but most noticeably, James and George Kirk were seated at adjacent computer terminals, motionless, and staring at each other in silent wonder.


	9. The Revelation

**Stardate 2233.02  
1720 hours**

Lieutenant Uhura shifted nervously in the captain's chair, thinking grimly to herself, " _Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown._ "

Just minutes ago, she'd received word from the away team that they were coming back through the rift with a Romulan warbird in pursuit. That kind of information would make anyone nervous, but it was made worse by the fact that the request had come from Spock, and _he_ had sounded nervous.

No one else would have noticed or even thought it was possible for a Vulcan to be uneasy, but she knew him well enough to discern microchanges in his tone. Things were going very badly for their away team. He had been in the middle of a transmission when it cut off, not because they lost the signal, but because Spock had abandoned the com link.

She sighed, trying to keep her worried anticipation at bay. Now they waited. The ship was at red alert, with shields up and weapons crews standing by.

She'd had some cross training as a tactical officer and she had taken the required bridge officer examination two years ago, but commanding a starship was well outside of her comfort zone. She met the minimum time to keep her certification by filling in once per quarter on the night shift, but she would never enjoy the burden of being in command, with hundreds of people looking to her for orders.

Nearly half of the crew was new. They had suffered a lot of casualties at the Battle of Altamid, and during the rebuilding of the _Enterprise-A_ at Yorktown, many more personnel had either put in for transfers or resigned their commissions altogether.

She looked around at the bridge crew and grimaced. The helmsman, Robertson, barely looked old enough to shave, and she noticed his foot was shaking underneath the terminal. Or was his name Robinson? Or Richardson? She tried to remind herself that she had been excitable and inexperienced once too.

"Ma'am, I think I'm picking up a signal from the away team," said the wide-eyed Caitian officer who was filling in at her com station.

It took more effort than it should have not to jump out of the chair and rip the earpiece out of the ensign's ear and tend to it herself.

"Isolate it and put it through the intercom," she ordered.

"I'm having trouble- it's- I think it's the rift. They're in the rift," the ensign announced.

Nyota could tell she was getting flustered and said in a dangerously calm voice, "Have you adjusted for frequency drift?"

She watched the woman's feline hands fumble at the computer screen. Nyota gritted her teeth, realizing that she might be slacking in her duties as senior communications officers to provide remedial training to the more junior personnel. She stood to handle the situation herself, but seconds later, Sulu's voice cracked through the bridge's intercom.

" _Enterprise_ , acknowledge!" he yelled.

It was difficult to hear him over the static in the signal and the chaotic shouting behind him. He sounded like he was in a sporting arena, not an eight-person shuttlecraft.

"This is _Enterprise_. What's the situation, Sulu?"

"We're having diff- don't want to overshoot- Spock says to-"

She leapt out of the captain's chair to the comm station, and without even asking the ensign to move, reached around her chest and rapidly adjusted the modulator. "Sulu, repeat last transmission."

"We don't want to overshoot your temporal position and we're about to lose warp!" Sulu exclaimed. "See if you can lock onto us with a transporter."

"You're at _warp_ in a temporal rift," she argued.

"We're approaching your position. Eighteen more seconds and we-"

The comm cut out, and she waited furiously and clenched her jaw.

Eighteen more seconds and _what_? Lock onto them in exactly eighteen seconds, or she only had eighteen seconds left to make it happen?

She slapped her hand down on the button to activate the comm and barked, "Uhura to transporter room two. Get a lock on the lifesigns in the shuttle and beam them aboard. _Now_."

"Aye, ma'am," replied an unfamiliar voice. "All sixteen of them?"

" _Sixteen_?"

"Six humans, ten Romulans." She could feel the seconds flying by and felt her extremities growing cold. Ten _Romulans_?

" _Yes_ , all sixteen," she said without further consideration.

"Uh, but-"

" _Do it_!" she snapped. "Uhura to security, send two teams down to transporter room two."

Her hand released the comm switch and she turned to the new lieutenant at the tactical station to ask, "Status on the Romulan vessel in pursuit?"

"It's about to overtake the shuttle, ma'am," he said.

Time seemed to stop and with eerie calm, she resumed her seat in the captain's chair. She swallowed carefully and replied, "Notify weapons crews to standby. Helm, prepare to take evasive action."

She toggled the switch to the comm on the arm of the chair to notify medical to prepare for casualties and steeled herself to ask for an update from transporter room two, fully expecting bad news, but they beat her to the punch.

"Ma'am, we've got them. All sixteen. Security's en route, but it all seems under control."

The elation felt like it was about to overpower her, and she instinctively put her hand to her belly and had to fight to keep from laughing with relief.

"Acknowledged," she replied, turning back to the helm to add, "Now let's deal with that warbird."

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.02  
1758 hours**

Spock took a quick inventory of the chaos surrounding him, taking greater care than usual to suppress the tide of emotion that always hid beneath his consciousness. Processing the rapidly evolving and emerging facts was difficult enough without the inconvenience of emotion.

He was in sickbay and the room was periodically bathed in the flash of red lights, indicating they were still at red alert. He was needed on the bridge, but he was also needed here. He was not a physician, but he needed to speak with his captain immediately.

Captain Kirk had sustained serious injuries during an altercation with a member of Nero's crew. Despite this, he was claiming they had not participated in the destruction of the _Kelvin_ , Vulcan, or the attack on Earth. Most of them had serious injuries and were also in sickbay being treated by the ship's medical staff, and all of them were giving him curious, sidelong glances.

"I just need you to patch me up as quick as you can and then I'll be _fine_ ," Captain Kirk yelled to the young, female nurse who was hurriedly trying to mend his battered knuckles.

"Captain, a word, if I may," Spock interjected, trying to convey a sense of urgency.

"I have a feeling that I know what you're going to say, Mr. Spock, and I _know_."

"In the event that you do _not_ , I would like to reiterate that revealing to your father the circumstances of his death-"

"I _know_ ," Kirk snapped.

The injured from the shuttle had been beamed directly from transporter room two to sickbay and Spock was mildly surprised that George Kirk had yet to arrive. In the chaos of their evasion from the Romulan warbird, the father and son had not yet had time to speak to one another at length.

Spock understood that preventing the two from interacting back on board the relative safety of _Enterprise_ would be impossible, but he felt compelled to remind his captain of what was at stake. "Should the events of the _Kelvin_ 's destruction be altered in any-"

"I _know_ , Mr. Spock," Kirk replied, his tone quiet and dangerous.

The ship shuddered and he could hear the crackle of the intercom as it engaged. The bridge's tactical officer was alerting sickbay to receive casualties from decks seven and eight, and Spock realized that injuries on deck seven could indicate damage to the primary warp power energizers.

Lieutenant Uhura was currently in command, and though she was a capable bridge officer, she had no practical experience with command in combat situations. As Spock was preparing to leave, George Kirk came running into sickbay and nearly knocked him over. Spock turned to give his captain one final warning.

"I know, Spock," Kirk said before Spock could speak. "You don't have to babysit me. Get up to the bridge."

Spock reluctantly yielded to the captain's logic and just as he exited the turbolift on the bridge, the red lights ceased and the intercom buzzed back to life.

" _This is acting Captain Uhura. Stand down red alert_."

He could see her perched in the captain's chair, quickly processing the updates from the various sections of the ship. For the briefest instant, he reflected upon the realization that no matter how highly adept he thought she was, she would always prove herself capable of more.

"Commander Spock," she declared, rising to yield the chair to him. He motioned for her to remain seated, and asked after the status reports.

"They're still coming in," she explained. "The Romulan ship has been destroyed, presumably with all hands lost. We're not detecting escape pods on short-range sensors. We nearly had a hull breach on deck eight but engineering crews are on it. Deck seven took a lot of casualties, but no reported fatalities yet."

"You appear to have the situation under control," he said.

"Aren't you here to relieve me?" she asked, her brow furrowing with an expression he knew was worry.

"If you believe you are capable of retaining command for the next several hours, I have an urgent matter I would like to attend to in the ship's brig," he explained.

"The Romulans?" she whispered.

"It is complicated."

"Yeah, of course," she nodded. "It's good to have you all back safe, Commander."

He could sense the intense relief emanating from her and he appreciated her sentiment. Worry was illogical, and therefore, so too was relief, but he could not deny he was glad to see her safe as well. As he prepared to leave, she asked, "Oh, Commander, transporter room two said they only retrieved six humans. Who-"

"Ensign Chekov was killed aboard the Romulan vessel," he interrupted. "His loss is... _regrettable_."

He felt the mood on the bridge shift instantly, and noted the pained shock in her face. He was uncertain how best to convey his regrets for the bright young man's death. He would have preferred to delay telling the bridge crew, knowing that humans often had difficulty in performing work while coping with grief, but it would also be illogical to deny the truth. Telling them later would not make the news less difficult to bear. He knew that he would have to find a way to grieve privately at a more appropriate time, but for now, he worked to restrain that particularly unpleasant emotion.

Spock entered the turbolift and descended back to deck seven, but rather than return to sickbay, he looped through the maze of corridors toward the _Enterprise_ 's brig. The two crewmen on duty leapt to their feet in acknowledgement, but he walked past them to the cells directly ahead. Lieutenant Sarah Spencer, the ship's new junior adjutant, was standing before the two prisoners and turned to look at him expectantly.

"Good morning, sir," she said. "Or, I guess it's evening? I've informed them of their rights and the charges against them, but they haven't spoken a word."

They had inadvertently captured two of the Romulans who had abducted the first away team: a man who appeared to be a lower-ranking guard and a woman who carried herself in a way that suggested she had a great deal more influence than her male counterpart.

They had wisely been placed into adjacent but separate cells. They stared at him with similar expressions that suggested both disinterest and irritation, but they remained silent. That was their choice, and their _right_ , as Lieutenant Spencer had already explained to them.

"Your vessel has been destroyed, and there do not appear to be any survivors," Spock began.

The man's eyes narrowed but the woman remained stone-faced.

"We would attempt to contact your government and arrange terms for your trial, however-"

"That would be pointless, as I'm sure you already know," the woman hissed.

"Yes," Spock agreed. "When we retrieved our personnel from your ship, our shuttle's computer registered the date as 2271.64. By the current stardate, I presume your government does not know who you are or why you are here."

Lieutenant Spencer looked at him skeptically, and then her eyes shifted back to the Romulans. They said nothing.

Spock found himself in a unique situation. He had strongly urged Commander Kirk to avoid seeking knowledge of future events, and interrogating Romulans who originated from eight years in his own future would be hypocrisy.

It would be arrogant to assume that Vulcan discipline alone would prevent him from acting upon information he inadvertently learned. Vulcans, like humans, possessed a powerful subconscious mind. Yet he could not just lock them away without explanation.

In addition to violating the Romulan Neutral Zone, they stood accused of a number of crimes. By Commander Kirk's account, they were the most likely suspects in the attack on the _Kelvin_ 's shuttle and they had abducted the _Enterprise_ 's away team, which had resulted in the death of Ensign Chekov.

He would prefer to handle the conversation alone and dismiss Spencer, but they had the right to legal representation. It would also be appropriate to record this interrogation for the record, but altering the historical record was what he was attempting to avoid. He disengaged the switch for the audio link to the cells and turned to dismiss the enlisted security officers.

"Sir?" Spencer muttered. "What's this about?"

"Lieutenant, I understand you are here to represent the legal rights of the accused," he explained turning his face away from the prisoners. "I do not intend to prevent you from doing that. However, you should understand there are more complex issues involved than simply matters of law in this case."

She turned her back to the cells and looked at him. "You said they're from the future?"

"Yes, I believe that they are. During my questioning, you may unintentionally learn details about events which have yet to happen, and though there is not a Temporal Prime Directive is still currently being drafted, there are-"

"I think I understand, sir," she interrupted. "I asked if they're willing to waive their right to counsel, but like I said, they haven't spoken a word to me. Barring that, I think I can understand that messing with time is probably a bad idea."

He appreciated her frankness: he had admired the same quality in her mother. He turned back towards the cells and reengaged the audio link. "My name is Commander Spock, I am first officer of this ship. May I ask whom I am addressing?"

"You may address me as 'Colonel,'" the woman said.

She tossed her head in the direction of the other Romulan's cell and added, "You will refer to him as 'Centurion.'"

Spock did not expect them to cooperate, so even this small concession was mildly astonishing. "Why have you crossed the Neutral Zone?"

"You must be aware that we have done a lot more than that," she replied.

Her tactic was immediately transparent. She was attempting to give the appearance of answering questions as a ruse to extract information from him. It was logical, but ineffective.

"Explain."

She scowled and crossed her arms. He watched her patiently, and neither of them moved for nearly a minute.

"I shall ask again, why have you crossed the Neutral Zone? I am certain a person of your rank is aware that you have committed an act of war."

"Commander Spock," she said in a chillingly low tone, "I have committed one act of war to prevent another one from beginning."

"Explain."

"I do not need to," she replied. "But you are running out of time."

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.02  
1815 hours**

Bones couldn't help but glance at the captain and his father about ten times a minute. Jim was pacing through sickbay, checking in with some of the more seriously wounded personnel, and George Kirk was sitting in a chair near the door, arms crossed and staring at the floor.

George and Jim hadn't spoken a word to each other since Spock had left sickbay, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized there wasn't a whole lot that _could_ be said. He didn't know what he would do if he were in either of their shoes. The whole thing was a damn mess.

He had eight of Nero's former crew sitting awkwardly in the corner, two dozen engineering personnel who had been injured during their confrontation with the Romulan warbird glaring at them, a captain talking to everyone _but_ his father, and the captain's father, who was supposed to be _dead_ , all packed into one cozy sickbay. Bones sensed there wouldn't be a rousing round of "Kumbaya" starting up any time soon.

The rest of his medical staff was winding down from red alert. All of the patients had been triaged, and all of the major injuries had been addressed. He left the nurses to handle the general scrapes and burns, and busied himself filling out reports rather than wade through the sea of awkwardness in front of him.

He felt overwhelmed by the amount of work staring back at him. He would need to find temporary quarters for the Romulans, and start work on Ensign Chekov's death certificate. He sighed and rubbed his forehead in saddened frustration.

"You alright, Bones?" Jim muttered.

He looked up to see the captain standing by his terminal, leaning over the long desk and smiling weakly at him. His face was still a hideous shade of purple from where the Romulan had broken his nose, but they hypo he'd administered would clear it up over the course of the next few hours.

"Are _you_?" he replied.

"No," Jim admitted.

"You should go get a drink," he said, looking back down to his computer screen. "I think I know someone who might be interested in joining you."

Bones flicked his eyes in George Kirk's direction, but his friend looked painfully at the floor.

"I really need to get back to the bridge," Jim said, turning to leave.

"I think Commander Spock and the rest of the bridge crew have it handled," he responded.

"I'm the captain of this ship, Bones," Jim insisted.

"I know," he replied quietly to avoid being overheard. "But even _you_ just admitted that you're not alright. Now, I could _formally_ relieve you of command, especially after everything I saw over there on that warbird, but I'm not going to do that. I know you, Jim: you're exhausted and you just lost a good friend, and you need a break, even if it's just for the night."

"Don't do this, Bones," Jim sighed.

"My father died too, Jim," he reminded him. "Now, I can't _order_ you to go spend time with him, but as your Chief Medical Officer, and your _friend_ , and as a son who would give anything for the chance to have one last talk with his old man, I'd recommend it."

Bones looked back down at his terminal with a measure of finality. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't up for debate. Jim wandered away from the desk, and walked back towards George Kirk with obvious discomfort. Though he made an effort to look busy, Bones couldn't help but watch the scene out of the corner of his eye. He saw Jim stop about a meter away from his father, who was still sitting in one of the waiting chairs lined up against the wall by the door.

"Hey, dad," Jim eventually said.

George Kirk wrung his hands awkwardly and sat up to face his son. "So I hear your name is Jim."

The captain laughed weakly and finally looked at his father.

"I'm George Kirk," the older man said, extending his hand. "But I guess you already knew that."

Bones watched Jim reach out and shake his own father's hand. Jim's crooked smile turned into chuckles, which rolled into deep laughs, and George Kirk began to smile as well, and before long, the pair of them were doubled over. Eventually their laughter waned, and Jim clutched his side and winced.

"You know, this is unreal," he said. "I don't feel like I really have a lot to laugh about right now."

"Me either," George Kirk agreed, taking a deep breath and leaning his head back against the wall.

"How about that drink then?" Jim mumbled.

George Kirk began to snicker again and slowly nodded. "Alright, but don't tell your mom. She'd kill me if she found out I gave liquor to our unborn son."

"Naw, she'll be fine. Besides, I'll just tell her I ordered you to," Jim smirked.

"Oh right," George Kirk grinned, standing up and heading for the direction of the door. "After you then, _sir_."


	10. The Conversation

**Stardate 2233.02  
1840 hours**

"I still feel like I should at least stop by the bridge," James Kirk said, feeling unable to look at his father.

"I understand," George Kirk replied. "You're the captain, but I'm guessing your CMO told you to take it easy."

"You picked up on that, huh?" Jim asked.

He felt a bit of embarrassment at the thought that his father might have overheard his conversation with Bones, which only made looking at him even more difficult.

"There's no shame in it," George replied. "Your face was so smashed up that I couldn't even tell whether or not you got lucky and ended up with your mother's nose."

Jim laughed and finally managed to make eye contact. Growing up, he'd talked to his dad in the same way that many kids talked to imaginary friends and as he got older, he quit talking out loud, but he never stopped wondering if he'd grown into a man his father would be proud of. Now he was terrified to find out that he wasn't.

"So did you win?" George asked.

"Huh?"

"The fight that left your face looking like a slaughterhouse dumpster?"

"Well, I guess I _technically_ won," he said through a crooked smile. "But in hindsight, I'm not exactly proud of getting into a fight in the first place. It was kind of a misunderstanding."

"I guess we all make mistakes," George said in a reassuring tone. "Did you get into a lot of fights as a kid?"

Jim carefully considered the question for a moment, and imagined Spock haranguing him for discussing anything with his father that was on a topic more serious than the weather. But he really couldn't see the harm in giving his father a general overview of his childhood, especially since his father would miss out on him growing up. He did his best to avoid thinking about tiptoeing around _that_ conversation.

"Well, I guess I did my fair share of brawling," he finally admitted.

He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "Fair share" wasn't _exactly_ accurate. He'd probably logged more fights at Riverside Elementary than any other student in the school's history. His mother said he was acting out and it was only natural; his stepfather said he was a troublemaker and needed more discipline.

"You're a Kirk," George grinned. "I can't say I never got into a few scraps of my own. It seems like you grew out of it though, if you made captain at- how old _were_ you?"

"I was twenty-five," he admitted. "Though it wasn't exactly a traditional promotion."

He paused at the turbolift and deliberated visiting the bridge. Bones had only told him to take the night off, but that didn't mean he couldn't just check in with his people. Surely by now they'd heard about Chekov, and he wanted to make sure they were doing ok.

"Do you mind?" he said, pointing toward the door. "It'll only take a minute."

"It's fine. Let's go."

As they exited the lift to the bridge, the tactical officer called, "Captain on the bridge," and most of the crew turned to stare.

"Carry on," he said.

Jim barely recognized half of the people here: most of them had been newly assigned at Yorktown and looked like they were on loan from their second or third year at Starfleet Academy. Still, they definitely deserved some praise after successfully engaging the Romulan ship and rescuing him and the rest of the away team.

He was pleasantly surprised to find Lieutenant Uhura standing next to the captain's chair. She was looking back and forth between him and his father, a weird look sketched on her face. He understood it: it _was_ a weird situation.

"It's good to have you back, Captain Kirk," she said. "And Commander Kirk."

"Spock tells me he left you in command. I have to say, I need to start making you take a few more shifts in the chair. You did great work, Lieutenant," he said, before raising his voice to add, " _All_ of you. I know I have yet to get to know most of you, but well done."

"We heard about Chekov," she said. Her tone was soft and her eyes were full of pain. He knew there was no judgment here, but it didn't help his mood.

" _Yeah_ ," was all he could think to say.

It would be appropriate to hold some kind of memorial when things settled down, and he definitely wasn't looking forward to it. She gave him a pained look and nodded. She was incredibly intuitive, and seemed to sense he wasn't ready to talk about it yet.

"What's our current heading?" he asked, desperate to change the subject.

"We're holding position, sir," she explained. "I was waiting for either you or Commander Spock to relieve me or give me some guidance, but it seems like we should start searching for the _Kelvin_."

Jim knew that he was quickly approaching the need to face some harsh realities. If he had heard Spock correctly in the shuttle, the current stardate was 2233.02. Getting his father back to the _Kelvin_ within the next two days mattered more than anything else, but he was afraid to think on that eventuality for long.

"We're getting a few encouraging readings on long-range scans, but nothing conclusive," she added. "I was hoping Commander Kirk could get with the navigator and give us an idea of its last known location, and then I was wondering if someone could tell me what we're supposed to do when we find it because it seems like it would be a little unsettling to just stroll up and ring the doorbell, if you know what I mean."

"True," he agreed, turning back to George. "Can you get our helmsman straightened out?"

His father nodded and walked over to the young ensign, who Jim was pretty sure was called Richards, and he moved closer to Uhura for a more private word. "Where is Commander Spock?"

She lowered her voice and said, "He's talking to the Romulans in the brig. I haven't heard anything for almost an hour. Dr. McCoy tells me you're supposed to be taking the night off."

Jim sighed; Bones had already called up to the bridge. He had to admire his doc for being thorough.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to tattle on you," she added with a gentle smirk. "I'm glad you stopped by, but we've got this covered, and you know I'll call you if I need anything. Go talk to your dad."

"Thanks Lieutenant," he said.

When George finished up at the helm, they descended to Deck 5 and headed for his quarters. He cringed at the dirty uniform hanging over the back of a dining chair and the old socks and underwear he'd left in the middle of the floor several days earlier, but overall, his quarters were pretty tidy.

"Have a seat," he said, quickly trying to pick up his dirty clothes. "And what do you drink?"

"I didn't raise you as a whiskey drinker?" George teased.

Jim swallowed hard and ignored the obvious correction. He entered the small kitchen and opened the first cabinet from the right to reveal his limited collection of spirits. He did indeed have a bottle of whiskey: Ensign Chekov had given it to him at his birthday party several months earlier.

He pulled the bottle down, retrieved two tumbler glasses from the adjacent cabinet, and joined his father at the dining table. He slumped into the chair across from him and poured himself a drink, and then waited for his father to do the same. Now that they were finally alone, the silence seemed to weigh heavier than before. Jim sipped the burning liquid and sighed.

"You want to talk about it?" George asked.

"I don't even know where to start," Jim admitted, folding his hands on the table.

"The beginning, the middle, the end: start wherever you want," George replied, spinning his glass around on the table absentmindedly.

"I screwed up and I lost someone under my command. Not just _someone_ : a close friend," Jim explained. "His name was Pavel Chekov, and I've known him since I was at the Academy."

"That's rough," George replied. "I know exactly how you feel, because I messed up too. Their names were Gabriel McAvoy and Francisco Hernandez. Lieutenant Hernandez was supposed to get married when we got back. Me and Winona – your _mom_ – we were invited to the wedding."

"I've lost people before," Jim admitted, staring at him hands uncomfortably. "A few months ago, my ship was destroyed and I lost nearly half my crew, but that was _different_ ; it was just a mission from higher command gone _wrong_ because of misinformation. Chekov died because I made a stupid choice to scout out a temporal rift against the advice of my first officer."

"The Vulcan?" George asked.

"Yeah, Commander Spock."

"He seems like a pretty _logical_ guy," George smirked, taking a big gulp of the liquor in his glass.

Jim made a face, laughed, and replied, " _That_ he is. But he's my best friend and I trust his advice. This time I didn't, and now another good friend of mine is dead."

"I'll admit Commander Spock really rubbed me the wrong way when I first met him," George began.

"You and me _both_ ," Jim laughed.

"But he saved my life, apparently against his better judgment, _and_ he went through that temporal rift twice to get you back, so maybe I was a little quick to form an opinion," George finished.

"Yeah, that's Spock for you," Jim explained. "Irritating and logical and loyal to a fault."

Another uncomfortable silence began to build, and George finished his drink and said, "Hernandez and McAvoy were the first people who ever died as a direct result of a decision I made."

"I had a good mentor coming up through the Academy, a guy named Captain Christopher Pike. I feel like if he were still alive, he'd be saying all kinds of things about not dwelling on the past and not imagining all the what-ifs, but-"

"But it's easier to give advice than take it?" George finished.

" _Exactly_ ," Jim answered, also finishing his drink and fighting to keep the tears from building in his eyes.

"We can sit here all night beating ourselves up, if that's what you really want to do," said George.

Jim reached for the bottle of whiskey and painfully thought of Chekov as he unscrewed the cap and poured a second round of drinks for the both of them. Moping and crying would be the easy thing, and it felt like it would be the _right_ thing, but he couldn't ignore the opportunity sitting in front of him. He would have the rest of his life to grieve, but maybe Bones was right: he needed to talk to his father while he had the chance.

He raised his glass and said, "To Chekov, Hernandez, and McAvoy." George raised his glass in return and they both took a long drink.

"I'm sure Commander Spock would be upset with me for saying this, but I get the sense that you and I don't know each other very well," George said after nearly a minute.

Jim looked at him, sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He started to wonder if getting drunk with his dead father was a good idea.

"That's because we _don't_ ," he announced, leaning forward to put his glass down on the table.

George said nothing, but also set his glass down, and Jim sensed his father was coming to the same conclusion about mixing family, alcohol, and time travel.

"I guess I shouldn't-"

"You _died_ ," Jim interrupted.

George bobbed his head awkwardly and asked, "Was I supposed to die on that planetoid?"

"No, but not very long after," Jim admitted. "I'm not sure if I should be telling you any of this, but I'm also not sure what the right thing is here. Everything's already so screwed up."

"Was I at least there when you born?" George asked.

Jim considered his words, and answered, "You were alive when I was born, yes."

"Well, _good_ ," George said with a pained grin, picking up the whiskey glass once again. "Can I- I wonder- did I?"

"Just _ask_ ," Jim said in exasperation.

"Did I die _well_?"

"That's… kind of _relative_ , I guess," Jim said clumsily. "What's a 'good death?'"

"Fair point," George admitted.

"I don't know that there was any reason for you to die," Jim said, feeling tears threatening to blot his eyes again. "But I think everyone would agree that you died a hero."

"Look, I didn't mean-"

" _No_ , it's fine," Jim interrupted. "I'd be wondering the same things if I were you." He finished the last of the whiskey with a hearty swig, sputtered, and set the glass down with an audible "clink" on the hard table.

"Enough about me," George said with false cheerfulness. "Tell me about you."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.02  
2345 hours**

Spock had spent the past two hours in his quarters, trying to logically piece together the limited information he was able to obtain from the Colonel and the Centurion. The situation was direr and more complicated than he had initially believed.

Though the Colonel had not _said_ it, he had been able to deduce that her government had dispatched other warbirds to intercept the _Narada_ and prevent the eventual destruction of Vulcan. It had been more difficult to infer why the Romulan Star Empire would invest itself in such an endeavor, but during the course of his three-hour interrogation, the Colonel had made three very serious mistaken admissions.

The first had been casually mentioning a prolonged war, the second had been suggesting that Romulus was nearly uninhabitable as a result of some sort of disaster, and the third had been admitting to having met Ambassador Spock. Those facts, taken together with the present circumstances and the contents of the late ambassador's final message finally led him to his conclusion.

Ambassador Spock had been trying to prevent a devastating future war between the Empire and the Federation, one that was presumably initially provoked by Vulcan's destruction. The political climate in 2263 certainly suggested that war was on the horizon. The only logical conclusion was that the Romulan government in 2271 had somehow discovered the temporal rift created by the _Narada_ 's destruction and managed to contact Ambassador Spock to negotiate a way to procure peace before the war even began.

The ambassador had previously explained that in his later years, he had made several attempts to reconcile Vulcans and Romulans, and therefore, it was logical to believe he would have had private motivations for communicating with the Romulan government of the future. It was also logical to assume that his death had unfortunately put an end to those discussions, but the Romulans had not abandoned the idea of preventing the war.

Spock found himself facing a peculiar dilemma. If the Romulans were successful in destroying the _Narada_ before it could destroy the _Kelvin_ , Vulcan would be spared. Unfortunately, existence as he understood it would vanish. Aside from selfish considerations, such as Nyota and their unborn child, that had much wider implications. Everything that had transpired since the _Kelvin_ 's destruction would be in jeopardy. The door to his quarters swung open and Nyota entered, looking extremely tired.

"I didn't know if you were still awake," she said, flopping down in the lounge chair across from him. "Scotty relieved me on the bridge. We still haven't found the _Kelvin_ , or any Romulan ships that you said we should scan for."

"Understood," he replied. "You performed admirably today, Nyota."

She smiled wanly without looking at him and said, " _Admirably_. That's high praise, coming from you."

He was about to ask after her health when she stood and sat down in his lap. She curled her legs up underneath herself and rested her head on his chest. She could often be emotional, but she was rarely so quietly affectionate.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"I presume you are referring to the child."

"Everything."

"I believe it would be more appropriate to ask what _you_ wish to do," he replied.

She adjusted her body to rest her forehead in the dip of his sternum. "I was ready to quit Starfleet a few hours ago, but being in command, I felt- I can't describe it. I felt _hungry_ , almost. I love Starfleet, and I don't want to resign my commission."

"You do not have to."

"Well, I can't stay on _Enterprise_ indefinitely, unless the ship has a nursery I don't know about, or unless the captain is willing to make some extraordinary exceptions to policy. Starfleet's regulations about families on deep space missions changed _because_ of the _Kelvin_ , in case you didn't remember."

"I am aware of Starfleet's policies regarding children on starships in remote sectors of space," he said. "But I presume your statement was an indirect means of asking me whether _I_ intend to remain aboard _Enterprise_ without you."

He could feel her body shudder and knew she was on the verge of tears.

"I do not," he added.

"But even if we get lucky and end up getting assigned somewhere together at first, it might not stay that way forever," she stammered.

"I was prepared for the eventuality that we would one day be given separate assignments, and I believed we would find a way to endure. This child adds a unique complication to each of our continued career paths, but that does not mean this child is unwelcome."

"But what will happen if I'm the one who ends up with the non-family friendly assignment someday?"

"I believe the only logical conclusion is that I will be left to care for the child," Spock replied.

"And you would do that?"

"You seem surprised."

"Do you even know anything about raising kids?" she asked.

"Do _you_?" he responded.

She scoffed and sat up and he could see tears freely flowing down her cheeks.

"Nyota, many things are not inherently evident, but must be learned. I am capable of learning to care for our child," he explained.

"I just can't stop worrying about everything. You've mentioned that things were really hard for you growing up, you know, since you're half human," she said, curling her bottom lip. "What if people are _awful_ to our child?"

"I believe that point is irrelevant to the matter," he argued. "Our child will face difficulty and adversity regardless of the circumstances of his or her birth or genetics. That is a simple consequence of life, but it will not change the fact that this child will exist."

"I just don't know how we're going to make it work," she sighed, returning her head to his chest.

"Nor do I, but there are many events in life that cannot adequately be anticipated."

"I both love and hate how you have an answer for everything," she sniffed.

The intercom panel by the door chimed, and he could easily perceive Nyota's frustration. She stood to allow him to get up and answer it.

"Spock here."

"Sorry to bother you, Commander," came the voice of Mr. Scott. "But I believe we're detecting at least one Romulan vessel on long range scans on our side of the Neutral Zone. I think you'd better get up here."


	11. The Calm

**Stardate 2233.03  
** **0005 hours**

George Kirk punched the pillow behind his head to give it better shape and flopped back down on the sofa in his son's quarters. His body was exhausted, but his mind was wide-awake, despite the fact that he was now somewhere into his third day without sleep, assuming he wasn't accounting for time travel.

In those three days, he had lost two excellent officers, two _friends_ , but had gained a son, and then that son had told him he would soon die. That was hard to come to terms with, and so he found himself too busy grappling with fundamental philosophical questions and what-ifs to sleep.

That seemed _natural_. How could anyone with knowledge of his or her impending death not struggle with it and feel compelled to find answers to those questions that had plagued mankind since self-awareness had evolved?

 _Why are we here? Who am I? Have I lived a good life? What happens when we die? What is the point of it all?_

It was one thing to know abstractly that life was impermanent, but another thing altogether to understand it would not extend beyond a very fixed point. It was like awaiting an execution, and that troubled him to the very depths of his soul.

 _Why are we here? Who am I? Have I lived a good life? What happens when we die? What is the point of it all?_

Jim had wisely withheld the precise time and nature of his death, but he knew had not been part of his younger son's memories, and that was the worst part of knowing he would die. At best, that meant he had maybe two or three years left, and at worst, maybe two or three _hours_ , assuming Jim was due to be born any day now.

He pondered if there was some higher purpose to meeting his unborn son as an adult and wondered if by meeting him, he had altered the time and circumstances of his looming death. If he survived, it stood to reason that James Tiberius Kirk would grow up to be a very different man, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Jim was a little rough around the edges, but he had a good heart, friends that loved him, and a sense of duty that he admired. He'd been an obvious troublemaker as a kid, but wasn't everyone?

Everything about him reminded George of himself before he'd settled down with Winona and started a family, and so it seemed that the apple certainly hadn't bothered to fall far from the tree. Jim was his _son_ , and he was proud of the man that he'd become, but it felt painful to know that he had become that man without his guidance.

Jim and George Jr. had ended up with a father of sorts. Jim hadn't wanted to talk about it, but he had eventually found out that Winona remarried a guy named Frank, and though he'd refused to admit it, his son had obviously not gotten on well with his stepfather. Without all the facts, it was impossible to know if that was Jim's fault or Frank's, but George was rational enough to know the truth was probably somewhere in between.

 _Frank_. It was difficult not to feel betrayed at the thought of his wife remarrying, but harder still not to feel childish and selfish for being jealous of a man he never met. Winona had a right to be happy. Were the situation reversed, he couldn't guarantee he would spend the rest of his life as a mourning bachelor, so it was unreasonable to expect that of her.

He was going to die, but life would go on. Life _had_ to go on. Was there anything more sobering than that realization?

His future goals would be unmet, his loved ones would mourn, his children would never know him, but life would go on as if he had never existed.

 _No_ , not as if he had _never_ existed. He had two sons, and children carried the unique ability of allowing their parents to survive in another way. Even if he hadn't had children, everything he'd accomplished in his life had served to impact the world around him. He had done good things during his short stint in the universe, and there would always be echoes of that.

His mind drifted back into trying to comprehend the sheer enormity of life with all its beauty and failings; he needed to know if there had been some purpose to his existence.

His eyelids slowly grew heavier, and just as he slipped over the edge of consciousness into the dream world; he experienced a passing feeling of sanguinity.

He wasn't dead _yet_.

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.03  
** **0005 hours**

Nyota turned back onto her left side, wondering how long it had been since she'd last switched positions. _Probably less than five minutes_. She hadn't slept properly in days, but the gears of her mind were turning too quickly for her to drift off at present.

She had successfully commanded a starship during a fierce engagement with the Romulans. Working a night shift in the captain's chair once every few months had never been appealing, and she had often wondered what drew people to command positions. Now she knew.

People had looked to her for guidance and leadership, and she had been able to deliver. It was an awesome and terrifying responsibility, but she'd been given a taste, and now she wanted more.

She noticed she was unconsciously tracing her fingers around her navel, and felt a strange fluttering in her chest. Her stomach was still flat, but wouldn't be that way for much longer.

Two weeks ago, she had never given much thought to having a baby or a command position, and now that one was certain and the other was a definite possibility in the future, she wanted them both more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life.

 _A captain and a mother_. Of course it was _possible_ to do both, but could it be possible to do both _well_? Spock seemed to think so, so why shouldn't she?

Her mind twisted through a maze of alternating self-doubt and self-empowerment and she turned back over onto her right side to stare through the portal into the vastness of space. The events of the past twenty-four hours were too crazy to comprehend. They were currently in the year 2233, and she was looking out into a universe where her own mother was currently pregnant with her, and here she was, pregnant with her own child.

Her child. Spock's child. _Their_ child.

Like all people, she and Spock fought sometimes, but she never doubted he was the love of her life. She didn't want to imagine life without him and now that he knew about the baby, she felt silly for having kept it from him for so long. He was going to make a great father.

She wondered at his ability to _openly_ love their son or daughter in the way that humans expected parents to love their children, but she understood that didn't mean he wouldn't love them. He wasn't always the most adept at showing it, but she knew how much he loved her, and so she didn't doubt he would love their baby just as much. She couldn't see him becoming overly affectionate or doting, but he was patient, responsible, dependable, thoughtful, and willing.

She rested both hands on her belly and flipped onto her back. For the rest of her life, she was going to be someone's mother. There was still so much to figure out, but maybe Spock was right. Life wasn't supposed to be easy, and there was no one right way to make a life or have a family.

She took a series of deep breaths and finally started to doze. There was no way to know what tomorrow would hold, but she looked forward to the possibilities.

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.03  
** **0005 hours**

Bones had waited until most of the medical staff had cleared out before sitting down to this dreaded task. He started down at the computer screen, sensing that once he started, that would make it more real somehow, and he hated that feeling. His fingers reluctantly got to work.

 **Decedent's legal name**. _Chekov, Pavel Andreievich_. **Species**. _Human_. **Gender**. _Male_. **Age-Last Birthday**. _22_.

 _Twenty-two years old: that was all the time he'd been given._

Bones took that as his cue to pour himself a tall glass of bourbon and drink deeply. He managed to fill in most of the remaining administrative data without too much emotion, but once he arrived at Part II, he began to feel the tickle in his sinuses that warned of approaching emotion.

 **Actual or presumed date of death**. _Well, that was a tricky question, wasn't it?_

The computer wouldn't allow him to enter stardate 2233.02, since it preceded Chekov's birth, so he approximated the date back to their stardate of origin: 2263.88. He checked the box to add an annotation at the end and continued.

 **Cause of death**. _Trauma from high-energy phase weapon._

 **Place of death**. _By some unnamed rock in the middle of nowhere._

He rolled his eyes and sent a message to navigation for approximate coordinates of the planetoid they'd been in orbit of when they'd been captured. It wasn't precise, but death certificates rarely were.

He got to box 43b and finally began to weep openly. He finished off the alcohol in his glass and poured himself another.

 **Manner of death**. It certainly wasn't natural, suicide, or undetermined, and the only options remaining to him were "homicide" and "accident."

Chekov had died to save him. If he could rewind time and have it to do all over again, he'd punch the kid straight in the kidneys before he'd let him make that sacrifice again. It was closer to an accidental homicide with a side of heroism, but the form wouldn't allow for such a description. Some days, he hated being a doctor.

He swore when they got back to their own time, he'd call his daughter Joanna more often. Hell, every chance he got. Life was so short, and she was growing up so fast: she would be fourteen soon.

There were so many things he would do over again if he could, but there was no point dwelling on the past. All he could change was the future.

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.03  
** **0005 hours**

V'Kal gazed at the wall before him. He sat upright in the soft chair, his sensitive ears listening to the sounds of the unfamiliar ship and the snores of his friends. He could not understand how they could sleep at such a time.

Humans were such a complicated species. Despite everything that had happened with Vulcan and Earth five years ago, these people had chosen to not only rescue him and his crew, but also provide them with medical treatment, food, and clean, comfortable quarters. They weren't even under _arrest_ , though the Vulcan first officer had asked to meet with him in the morning.

They had been rescued from their own people, who had kept them like livestock awaiting slaughter in the belly of a Tal Shiar ship, just for being inconvenient to the Empire. His entire life, he had heard the Federation mocked as a symbol of weakness and ignorance, but he was beginning to suspect there was a difference between weakness and mercy.

His thoughts were interrupted by Maiek's shouts. The man seemed to be having a bad dream. Twenty-five years in Rura Penthe had been a long time, and they all carried scars from it. Maiek's were mostly on the inside, but they were scars all the same. On a fundamental level, Romulans were not so different from Klingons. Veneration practices between their cultures might differ, but they both worshipped power.

About once every two decades, some underground movement would form within the Romulan Star Empire to adopt more peaceful policies, and then the government propaganda machine would engage, the military would mobilize, and the leaders of the resistance would be found and executed in a parade of state derision and abuse.

When he looked deep within his soul, he found complex levels of hypocrisy and conflict that truly were incomprehensible. Like all Romulans, he knew better than to actually _believe_ most of the government puffery, but like all _living_ Romulans, he knew better than to voice his questions and discontent. Doing so was the surest way to become a _dead_ Romulan.

Yet even for all his flippant, secret mistrust of his own government, he had always believed resistance leaders were fools and enemies of the Romulan people. He cheered at their trials and executions, and celebrated each time the Empire won a victory over some other culture or civilization. He was Romulan through and through, but _now_ , in the darkness of a quiet room on a Federation starship, he wondered if there couldn't be some other way.

He had no home to return to: his family of the distant future was gone in the blaze of a collapsed nebula. When he'd overheard the Romulans who had captured them, the Romulus of the near future seemed doomed to a similar fate after a bloody war with the Federation. Nero's revenge, fashioned into bitter irony.

War and power could be called glorious or honorable, but what was the point if it consumed everything they were fighting for?

V'Kal knew he was not a philosopher, a military leader, or a diplomat: he was a half-educated miner from N'Shar province with a natural ability for engineering.

He felt afraid of his own growing ideas, but he began to wonder if he had found some other calling. It now seemed evident that he and the others would be doomed to live the rest of their lives more than one hundred years in the past, but where should they call home?

He could try to find a way to use the temporal rift to return home to his family prior to the collapse of the nebula, but that wouldn't stop the loss of Romulus. It occurred to him that if he could find a way to bring about a meaningful peace between the Empire and the Federation, he might again be born one day, have a family, and that family could be spared because of a partnership with the Federation, not because a rogue ambassador had violated his government's policies in a failed, last-ditch effort to save his home world.

 _Maybe K'Ahel would have a chance at a happy life._

Romulus was his home, and Romulans were his people, and despite the government, his people needed to achieve peace before it was too late. Even saying such things aloud was treason and punishable by death, but V'Kal felt half dead already. His people needed a leader who could show them a better way, and though he didn't know what that way was yet, he felt ready to devote the rest of his life to finding out.

He was just a simple man with no formal education in leadership or politics, but if not him, than _who_?

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.03  
** **0005 hours**

Spock waited for Captain Kirk on the bridge. He had informed him of Mr. Scott's discovery, and it would be left to Kirk to decide how to proceed.

It had taken hours, but Spock had finally arrived at the most logical solution. There was no truly correct or ethical answer, only shades of acceptable. Now all he had to do was convince his captain, his _friend_ , that it was the best course of action.

Mr. Scott had detected a cloaked Romulan warbird on long-range scanners very near the known location of the _Narada_ 's impending temporal incursion. After further analysis, the signatures were very similar to the ship that had abducted their away team, so it was logical to assume the vessel may have originated in the year 2271.

If that _were_ true, it would be logical to further assume they intended to interfere with the destruction of the _Kelvin_ to prevent the second Romulan-Federation war that the Romulan Colonel had hinted would begin in about seven years in their relative future.

The Temporal Prime Directive was greatly overdue to be published, but without formal guidance, he was left to the mercy of his own conscience. As far as his personal ethics were concerned, it was a problem without a clear solution.

From a philosophical standpoint, simply having knowledge of the situation and an ability to influence its outcome seemed to constitute a moral obligation to participate.

It was tempting to do nothing and allow the Romulans to destroy the _Narada_ , thus saving the crew of the _Kelvin_ , as well as ensure the eventual salvation of the planets Vulcan and Romulus. By the strictest interpretation of Surak's teachings, this was the morally correct action, but only as far as _he_ understood it.

Allowing the Romulans to intercept the _Narada_ had the potential to save billions of lives, but could also set in motion an entirely different set of events that could be devastating in other ways.

Everything that had transpired since the _Kelvin_ 's destruction would no longer be guaranteed. By failing to act, he could be writing himself out of existence, and even from his own small, personal vantage point, that could be just as catastrophic as the loss of Vulcan if he were to die prematurely or choose a path other than Starfleet. Throughout his career, he had helped save fourteen civilizations from destruction, either as a result of war or natural disaster.

The first had been the primitive humanoids of Nibiru: he had detonated a cold fusion device into an active volcano, saving them from extinction. He had technically violated the Prime Directive, but the people of Nibiru were still alive because of his actions. Were the timeline changed, they would perish. Who was _he_ to determine that the lives of Vulcans mattered more than the lives of the indigenous peoples of Nibiru?

Ultimately, he did not feel it was appropriate for one person, or even a handful of people aboard _Enterprise_ , to actively decide the fate of the rest of the galaxy. His only conclusion was that the timeline had to be preserved, if at all possible.

He felt certain no amount of meditation would absolve his soul of the torment it would endure as a result of standing by and knowingly allowing his culture to be pushed to the edge of annihilation. Unfortunately, with his limited frame of reference, it was the least objectionable option available to him.

He heard the familiar rush of the turbolift doors and the operations officer announce, "Captain on the bridge!"

Spock rose deferentially from the chair to yield it to his friend. James Kirk looked like he had aged ten years in the course of ten hours, likely the result of grief and exhaustion. His smile tried to hide it, but Spock knew better.

"So what do we do, Mr. Spock?" Jim asked.

"You are the captain," Spock replied.

"I feel only right turning this one over to you," he answered. "I have an immediate, obvious conflict of interest."

"As do I, captain."

"I made a mistake in not trusting you before, Mr. Spock. I don't think there's anyone on board that can truly be objective on this, but if I had to pick someone, it would have to be you," Jim explained. "So what are your orders?"


	12. The Destination

**Stardate 2233.03  
0900 hours**

"The quality of your food is impressive."

"It was produced in a particle replicator; do you not have such technology?"

"We do, but it is designed for nutritional content, and not taste."

Spock gave a small nod and dipped his spoon into the bowl of plomeek soup. He had asked V'Kal to meet with him in his private quarters because he seemed to be the de facto leader of the _Narada_ 's remaining crew.

Both the captain and the doctor seemed to believe their claim that they'd attempted a mutiny against Nero following the murder of Captain Robau. He read Dr. McCoy's report on the disastrous away mission that had resulted in Ensign Chekov's death, and while the survivors' story _seemed_ plausible, Romulans were known for their duplicitous natures.

Despite this, stereotyping was illogical, and being Romulan was not a crime. They were certainly on the wrong side of the Neutral Zone, but they had come here neither willingly nor intentionally. He had legal grounds to detain them under Federation law, not only for violating the Neutral Zone but also for being members of a crew that had destroyed a Federation planet, but he did not feel that would serve the interest of justice.

Once again, his conscience was in conflict. As there was no _clear_ way to validate their story, sohe could only rely on Kirk and McCoy's testimony and what he'd observed for himself since their rescue, as well as that other bit of circumstantial evidence that insofar as Spock knew, only _he_ possessed.

When he and Kirk had boarded the _Narada_ five years earlier to prevent the destruction of Earth, he had mind melded with an unconscious Romulan on the bridge of their ship to learn the location of the red matter. He had also inadvertently learned the locations of Captain Pike and the _Jellyfish_ , and about a mutiny led by two men called V'Kal and K'Ahel.

Spock knew that it wasn't for him to determine their guilt or innocence: that was what investigations and trials were for. The problem was that any information obtained through Vulcan mind melds was not admissible in general Federation courts and was only allowed in Starfleet hearings and Vulcan courts with the consent of both parties. The Romulan hadn't consented and was also now dead, which rendered him unable to give retroactive consent, not that he likely would have anyway.

Spock doubted whether these men could receive a truly fair trial within the Federation. Vulcan was one of the Federation's founding members and its loss was still very raw, not only among Vulcans, but throughout the entire Federation. Some kind of fear seemed to exist that if the Romulans could destroy Vulcan without consequence, they might feel emboldened to launch another attack, despite the fact that Nero had explicitly stated he was not under orders from the Romulan government.

Even if he _had_ been, Nero hailed from the year 2387, so if the Federation wished to declare war against the Romulan Empire for Nero's actions, declaring war with the _current_ Romulan government would be highly illogical, but that didn't seem to matter to a small group of warmongers within the Federation government.

Not many Vulcans openly advocated for war, but the loss of so much of the population, along with virtually all tangible components of Vulcan civilization, had yielded devastating impacts on Vulcan society, culture, and beliefs. There was evidence that a significant minority of Vulcans were beginning to reevaluate and reinterpret Surak's teachings, with some turning away from them altogether. Though it was too early to tell what the long-term impact on Vulcan society would be, it was certain that Vulcan culture had been irrevocably altered by Nero's drill.

Therefore, it would be prudent to consider the future Federation-Romulan War that the Romulan colonel had mentioned. Bringing these men back to the Federation for trial had the potential to act as a catalyst for renewing tensions between the two governments that seemed to be fading.

By entering the temporal rift, it seemed likely they had already changed the course of history, but it was impossible to know to what extent, or which actions had the potential to do the greatest damage. He was uncertain what to do with the eight Romulan miners and the two Romulan Tal Shiar soldiers, which was why he'd asked to meet with V'Kal. Before he made his decision, he wanted to know what V'Kal wanted to do.

Just as he was about to ask, V'Kal said, "I am sorry for what happened to your home world."

Spock set the spoon down in the nearly empty bowl of broth before him and said, "And I am sorry for what happened to yours."

"That was not your fault, I do not think," V'Kal said, picking up his own bowl of plomeek soup to drain the rest directly into his mouth.

"From what I understand, you made an attempt to save Vulcan from destruction and for that, I am grateful."

V'Kal squinted at him and cocked his head, considering Spock's words.

"Do you know a man named K'Ahel?" Spock asked.

The Romulan's face contorted into an odd expression and he replied, "I _knew_ him. I think of him every day, though he has been gone for many years. How do you know him?"

"I do not," Spock admitted. "But I believe he was your fellow mutineer, and I wish to express my gratitude for his actions as well."

"You believe our story then?"

"Yes."

"Then you are a fool, but I am grateful for your trust, even if we do not deserve it."

"You do not believe yourself deserving of trust?" Spock asked.

V'Kal's eyes narrowed and he hunched his shoulders forward. He was quiet for a long time and just before Spock could repeat his question, he said, "Romulans are not known for being trustworthy."

"No," Spock agreed. "But I have my private reasons for believing your story, though I regret to say there are many who likely will not accept your version of the events."

"To tell it truly, I wanted to kill Ambassador Spock for failing to save Romulus, like he promised to do. It was K'Ahel who convinced me that our vengeance would be worthless. K'Ahel was a good man and Nero killed him. Tell me, does Ambassador Spock still live?"

"No. He died approximately three months ago."

"I am sorry to hear it," V'Kal said.

"I believe he was attempting to forge a peace with your government, though I am unclear of precisely how."

A strange expression crossed V'Kal's tattooed face, and he looked back at Spock fixedly. "Do you believe that peace is possible between our people?"

His was a question that Spock had spent many hours reflecting upon since the loss of his home world. "I believe peace is always possible, though I do not believe it will ever be universally desired."

V'Kal uttered a brassy laugh and caught his breath by looking up at the ceiling.

"Do I amuse you?" Spock asked.

"No, you make me think of an old Romulan saying. It is unimportant. But you are right: there will always be people who want war, but there needs to be more people invested in peace to achieve peace. It has never been that way on Romulus, but I want that for my people."

"I hope they can find it," Spock replied.

"They will _not_ : not on their own," V'Kal admitted. "Tell me, what do you plan to do with me and my crew?"

"What would you have me do?"

"If we were on Romulus, we would have a public trial, and then we would be executed as traitors."

"Throughout the Federation, the purpose of a trial is to ensure the evidence is presented according to law, and thus verdicts are not passed until the evidence has been considered, and rehabilitative punishment is only arranged when the person has been found guilty."

V'Kal sneered and began to laugh again.

"I do not see what is humorous about due process," Spock added.

"The purpose of a trial is to make sure the tribunal has properly accounted for all of the crimes that have been committed and to hear the confession of the guilty. No one is found _innocent_ of crimes at a trial: that would mean the Empire has made a mistake."

"Our governments are very different," Spock replied.

"I want to live in a place where the government admits it makes mistakes," V'Kal confessed.

Spock had considered the possibility that they might seek asylum, but he knew that would be very difficult to formally obtain. He had many friends on New Vulcan, some which might be sympathetic to their cause, once the entire story had been explained, but they would never be able to live openly as Romulans.

"I might be able to arrange for you to alter your identity and establish residence on New Vulcan, if-"

" _No_ ," V'Kal interrupted. "I am Romulan, and I want to live on Romulus. I thank you for your offer, but I want better for my people than to be torn apart by war or nebulas. What year is it, where you come from?"

"2263."

V'Kal thought to himself, counting with his fingers to approximate the Federation stardate in terms of the Romulan calendar, and then smiled and said, "Then there is still time, if you let me go back with you to your time and let me go home to Romulus. I think some other members of my crew might want to live on your new home world if you can arrange it, but not me."

"What is it you intend to do?"

"I do not know," V'Kal admitted. "I want to learn things about your government, and _other_ governments. I want to learn how to lead people like K'Ahel did. When I learn these things, I want to make my home world peaceful. Romulus will never be the Federation, but I do not think it has to be like it is now, or _will_ be, a century from now."

Spock could see he was in earnest, and said, "Peace is a lofty goal. I hope you can achieve it."

"I can see that it is your turn to think me a fool," V'Kal added, looking into the distance thoughtfully. "But I cannot do _nothing_. Our ancestors once lived on the same planet and I want my children to some day live in the same quadrant as yours without the urge to make war. Do you _have_ children?"

"No, but my… mate, my... _wife_ … she is pregnant," Spock admitted.

"I had a daughter and a son," V'Kal said with a small smile. "My daughter, Lyra, she died in the nebula with her mother on Romulus, but not my son. He was with me on the _Narada_. He was clever and a better man than me. His name was K'Ahel."

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.03  
1300 hours**

James Kirk sat at the desk in his quarters, feeling the weight of an impossible dilemma. He had temporarily turned command of the ship over to Spock twelve hours ago. It was the first time during his career that he had voluntarily relinquished command for a personal reason, but he knew it was the right thing to do, especially after what had happened to Chekov.

Spock had spent an hour carefully defending his choice to allow the _Narada_ to destroy the _Kelvin_ , thus preserving their timeline. It made _logical_ sense: they weren't the masters of the universe, and as much as he wanted his father to live, he didn't want anyone else to inadvertently die. It lined up with everything he had learned in his first year Ethics and Philosophy class at the Academy, but this wasn't some abstract thought experiment: this was his _life_. As much as his head agreed with his first officer, his heart was struggling mightily to arrive at the same conclusion.

Spock intended to send his father out in a shuttle to intercept the _Kelvin_ while _Enterprise_ engaged the cloaked Romulan ship. He hadn't told Spock yet, but he planned to be the one to take George Kirk onward to his fate. It would take nearly a full day to reach the _Kelvin_ in a shuttlecraft from their current location, and after being robbed of his father for an entire lifetime, he didn't think it was too much to ask for just one more day.

After leaving Spock in command on the bridge, he had returned to his room and even managed to sleep for a few hours before being startled awake by a formless nightmare. Unable to drift off again, he had set to work doing the unglamorous work required of starship captains, and now he was finished updating his logs and was mostly through composing all the necessary official reports for the incidents that had occurred in the past two days. Starfleet _loved_ its paperwork.

His father was still asleep on the couch, and Jim knew he would need to wake him soon. _Not just yet._ He had three more things to do first.

He chose the easiest of the three to start with, and clicked through the database to find the appropriate form, immediately populated the necessary administrative data, and skimmed it for correctness.

As a starship captain, he had the authority to formally promote crewmen and junior officers at his discretion when they had met the minimum standards for advancement to the next rank. Senior officer promotions were different though and had to be approved by the next higher headquarters, since many senior positions were limited.

He attached the quarterly review forms and set to work composing his personal recommendation. Lieutenant Uhura was well overdue to become Lieutenant Commander Uhura. She had always been reluctant to take command and could easily serve out the rest of her career as a senior lieutenant in the position of senior communications officer... if that was what she really _wanted_. Last night, she had shown that she was capable of so much more, even if she was hesitant to believe it. He would have to talk to her and get her signature, and there was always a chance she would refuse the promotion, but it was his sincerest hope that she wouldn't.

He attempted to save the draft, but the computer alerted him to his failure to attach the most recent copy of her medical file. He skimmed through his command files, did a quick search for her name, and was surprised to find her medical file carried an orange flag, which indicated she was on temporary restricted duty for a period to last longer than three months but less than twelve. It wouldn't affect her promotion, but it was interesting nonetheless.

He opened the orange coded note and his jaw dropped. Lieutenant Uhura was _pregnant_? Why was he only just _now_ finding out about this? Why hadn't she told him? _Or_ …

He began laughing and did his best to quickly get it under control to avoid waking his father. Unless he was seriously disconnected from the Crewman News Network aboard _Enterprise_ and Lieutenant Uhura had some new secret boyfriend he didn't know about, there was going to be the pitter patter of feet with a pair of pointy ears attached. The thought of Spock becoming a father was almost as unbelievable as the presence of his own father asleep on the couch just three meters away.

He gave himself a minute to wrap his head around it, even briefly wondering if they'd consider naming it "James" if it was a boy, which caused him to laugh again. He still felt a bit offended that no one had told him.

At a minimum, pregnancy was a reportable medical condition, but he realized in the chaos of the past few days, he hadn't had a chance to read the weekly logs from medical or any other section. He pulled up Bones' report from two days earlier, and there it was, right at the top: a confirmation of her pregnancy and a mandatory change in her duty status.

He understood things had been a little hectic lately, but he made a note to himself to give them both a little hell for keeping it a secret. He attached her updated medical record to her promotion file and saved it for her review and signature.

His mood shifted as he prepared for his next task. It had been one of the last things he'd ever said to Chekov: "Remind me to promote you when we get back." Chekov hadn't made it back and wasn't here to remind him, but he hadn't forgotten.

Though promotion to lieutenant commander required higher approval, promotion to lieutenant did not, and Ensign Chekov had met the minimum age and time in service requirements to become a lieutenant four months ago. Kirk had intended to promote him the moment he was eligible, but then the incident with Krall happened, and he'd been kept busy at Yorktown and had fallen behind on all of his necessary personnel actions.

He hated himself for the delay: Chekov deserved to accept this promotion in person. A posthumous promotion didn't mean much and he doubted whether it would matter to Chekov's family, but it was the least he could do.

 _They_ were his third and final order of business. It was customary for commanders of fallen Starfleet personnel to write personal letters home to the families. It had taken him more than a month during his holdover at Yorktown to work his way through the _Enterprise_ 's casualty list following the events at Altamid.

Several people had tried to convince him to send a form letter, but he'd refused. Those people had trusted him to look after their sons and daughters, husbands and wives, mothers and fathers… They deserved a detailed explanation of their loved ones' accomplishments, as well as a personal apology for his failure to protect them as their captain.

His mother had never gotten any such letter and had once told him how sad it made her that some staff admiral or captain couldn't be bothered to take ten minutes to offer condolences to their family. When he'd made captain, the one thing she'd made him promise was that if he ever lost anyone under his command, he wouldn't forget to write to their families, and so far, he'd kept that promise.

He glanced over to the sofa where his father was still fast asleep and pinched the skin of his forehead in frustration before he began typing.

 _Mr. and Mrs. Chekov,_

 _It is with deep sorrow that I write to you…_

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.03  
1645 hours**

Commander George Kirk sat in the shuttle bay, observing the bustle of movement around him. He checked the time on the overhead digital clock.

Jim was fifteen minutes late and he didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. He regretted sleeping so much time away, but he couldn't deny he felt _physically_ better. His son had called him on the com to wake him an hour ago and told him to be in shuttle bay one in forty-five minutes, and he'd showered and used the replicators in his quarters to produce a clean uniform identical to what he wore on the _Kelvin_.

Jim was adamant about returning him to his ship, and though he was reluctant to part ways with his son, he was eager to see Winona again. It was also strange to consider he'd be seeing Jim again any day now, though certainly he would be a lot smaller.

A hydraulic press hissed next to him, and as the sound began to wane, he could hear conversation on the opposite side of the shuttlecraft. "Captain, you placed me in command for this very purpose, and I cannot-"

"You've given me all the warnings possible, Spock. I know what's at stake, and I'm sure I can do this. Please, just let me do this."

George stood, sensing they were having a private conversation and it would be rude not to make his presence known, but before he could speak, they turned into view around the nose of the shuttle with an ensign in tow.

"Commander Kirk, it is good to see you again," Spock said.

"Yeah, you too," George replied, looking back and forth between his son and his son's first officer.

"Ensign Robertson is prepared to return you to the _Kelvin_ ," Jim explained, patting the young officer on the back.

"Actually, sir, it's Robbins," he corrected.

" _Yeah_? I would ask if you're sure, but it's _your_ name, so I guess you probably are," Jim said, a genuinely apologetic smile crossing his face. "I'll get it right next time, I promise."

"We need to increase our speed to intercept the Romulan ship and the shuttle needs to depart within the next seventeen minutes in order to rendezvous with the _Kelvin_ ," Spock said.

 _Seventeen minutes was very precise_. George reflected on that for a moment, assuming that being in a hurry to make such a specific timeline probably had momentous repercussions for failure, but he didn't see the point in saying anything and receiving another Vulcan lecture about the sanctity of history.

" _Right_ ," Jim replied. "Ensign Robbins is happy to take you, but I would also like to volunteer to be your pilot. It's up to you."

George looked at Jim carefully, noting there was a hopeful lilt in his tone but a worried look in his eyes. He understood why his son was offering a choice: Jim was asking if he would prefer to say goodbye now or later without actually saying the words.

"I'm sure you're quite capable," he said, looking at the young pilot. "But if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer Captain Kirk."

"I understand, sir," Robbins replied.

Spock stepped forward, clearly ready to protest, but George held up his hands deferentially. Jim nodded over his shoulder to indicate to Robbins that he was dismissed, leaving the three senior officers at the shuttle's ramp.

"Commander Spock, I think I've done my best to avoid messing with your future, and after spending a few hours with my son, I have an even greater interest in making sure you all get back to where you came from without any hiccups. I intend to go back to the _Kelvin_ and I know you need to go catch some Romulans, get back through that temporal rift, and make sure it gets properly closed."

"I understand your sentiment, but there are a number of broad practical and ethical issues at stake which I do not believe you fully appreciate."

"You're right," he agreed. "And the reason I _don't_ is because I've tried to avoid fishing for too much information about the future, as per your orders. Captain Kirk may be my son, but we're both Starfleet officers with a duty to uphold, and I believe we're both capable of doing that."

Jim pushed past him and boarded the shuttle, and Spock followed closely behind. George shrugged to himself and joined them.

"You go catch the Romulans, and I'll catch the _Kelvin_ ," Jim insisted. "I already sat through your remedial, first-year Academy lecture on moral ethics an hour ago and I'd really like to skip doing that all over again. You said it yourself: we're running out of time. Trust me, Spock."

"Then I believe all there is left to say is, 'goodbye,'" Spock replied.

"Thank you, Commander Spock," George added. "For everything."

"Commander Kirk, it has been an honor to make your acquaintance," said Spock. "I regret it could not have been under better circumstances."

He hadn't much liked the stoic Vulcan when he first met him, but he was beginning to see what a true friend he was to his son, and he couldn't help but think that everyone should be so lucky to have such a friend even once in their lives.

"I believe it's right to say 'live long and prosper?'" George added, awkwardly forming his hand into the Vulcan salute he'd once learned during a diplomatic mission to Vulcan.

"Yes," Spock answered, returning the gesture. "May you also find peace."

A short time later, he and Jim were seated at the two forward terminals and preparing to depart. As Jim engaged the switch to seal the shuttle hatch, he shouted, " _Hey Spock_!"

"Yes, Captain?"

"If it's a boy, I think you should name it James! Oh, and _congratulations_!"

Spock's eyebrow flicked upward and George would almost swear he was getting ready to smile, but he simply bobbed his head and turned to leave. The ramp to the shuttle soon folded completely into the wall and he heard the familiar hiss of air as the computer automatically pressurized the cabin.

George finished plotting a course to the projected location of the _Kelvin_ , looked to his son, and said, "Like the old generals used to say: let's go have a rendezvous with destiny."


	13. The Choice

**Stardate 2233.04  
1645 hours**

"You did _what_?" His son had just admitted to driving his 1965 convertible Corvette Stingray into a quarry and George was certain he was on the verge of a panic attack.

"You gotta understand-"

"I- it's- oh, oh _no_ , oh _God_ \- why- how- _what_ \- I- _Why would you_?"

"I didn't _mean_ to drive it off that cliff exactly, but it felt sort of good," Jim finished, leaning away in obvious terror of some kind of physical retribution.

" _What_?" George bellowed, before weakly adding, "What do you mean it felt _good_?"

"Frank was going to sell it," Jim added, staring straight ahead into empty space.

 _Frank_. The more he was learning about his boys' stepfather, the more he hated him.

"Mom went away to one of her conferences for a week and Frank was out of work so he was going to sell it behind her back and asked me to wash it first. I found the keys tucked into the sun visor and-"

" _He put the keys up in the sun visor_?" George moaned in anguish. "Didn't he know that could damage the fabric?"

"It seems kind of like a moot point now, you know?"

"Oh, I'm going to be sick," George said, clutching his forehead.

"I'm sorry."

"You drove _my_ car, my _beautiful_ , candy apple red Corvette into a quarry to keep your drunken stepfather from making some cash under the table?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it," Jim admitted.

George pursed his lips and nodded. " _Good_."

After a few awkward seconds, they both started to belly laugh.

They'd had twenty-four hours to bond as father and son and they'd each done their best to condense an entire lifetime of memories into anecdotes over shared meals and piloting duties since departing _Enterprise_. Neither of them had slept, but he still felt rested enough from crashing on Jim's sofa. Jim on the other hand looked ragged, and George worried about his son getting back to his ship and crew in one piece when this mission was complete.

"Well, the story gets worse before it gets better," Jim continued after an unusually long silence. "As you can imagine, Frank was pretty mad, but the end result was, mom filed for divorce when she got home and I never saw Frank again after that."

"Did he hurt you?" George snapped. Anger stirred in his chest. He was afraid he already knew the answer.

He couldn't be sure what he would have done if he'd had to discipline Jim for destroying his beloved Corvette, but he doubted he would have had the capacity to physically hurt his own child. Jim began to stammer and ruffle his hair. "That's all just water under the bridge, you know?"

"How could Winnie marry such a piece of-"

"I don't think he was always that way," Jim interrupted. "I was barely old enough to remember them getting married, but George says he was alright in the beginning. Then we grew older and started talking back and things slowly escalated until Frank had enough, and then mom finally had enough, and that was that."

"Don't blame yourself," George growled.

"I'm _not_ , but I know we weren't easy to live with, _me_ especially. It took me years to realize that. Frank wasn't a good guy, but I wasn't exactly a good kid either. I was angry at the him for so long, and angry at mom for marrying him, and at you for- well, _see_? I was angry for a lot of stupid reasons."

"You were angry at me for dying?"

"I didn't say it made sense. Kids are stupid and emotional."

"Yeah, but they're great," George replied. "Kids are _kids_. All kids go through phases of being resentful, hormonal, and irrational, but that's part of growing up. That doesn't give him the right to hit you."

"I know that."

"Then don't act like it was your fault."

"Huh," Jim mused. " _Kids_."

"I know you said your brother married a girl named Aurelan and moved to Deneva, but do you have any plans to…"

"Settle down and have a few kids of my own?" Jim finished.

George could detect a subtle flush of his cheeks, and wondered why it was something that was so uncomfortable to discuss.

"It's complicated. I feel married to Starfleet mostly, but there was a woman a few years ago... I asked her to come on this five-year mission, and she did for a while, but she eventually left Starfleet to do research. I wanted to go with her, but... it was complicated."

George remained silent, almost daring his son to say more.

"Her name is Carol." His son's voice carried a tone of regret.

"Tell me about her," he urged.

Jim grinned a boyish smile that quickly transitioned into a pained smirk.

"It's a really hard thing, growing up with a mom who was a widow," Jim said at last. "I never wanted to do that to anyone. I've come so close to dying out here so many times: the number of times I've nearly died this _year_ is pretty appalling."

George was stunned. How was he supposed to respond to the fact that his son had become too jaded to love another person?

"I don't mean to be a downer," Jim added, yawning and stretching in his seat.

"I know that married life and kids aren't for everyone," George said, trying to ease the tension. "But don't spend your whole life trying to convince yourself that you don't want it if you really do. Death is part of life and you can't let that fact keep you from living whatever time you have left."

It was the advice he'd worked so hard to construct for himself the night before, and was sad to realize how equally it applied to his own son. Jim covered another yawn with his fist and leaned over the computer terminal.

"Why don't you get some shut eye?" George said.

"No, I-"

"Just listen to your father," he interrupted with a hint of smugness. "You look half dead and we're not due to be within transporter range of the _Kelvin_ for another four hours."

It took a bit more arguing and protesting, but eventually Jim settled into one of the hard, built-in bunks at the back of the cabin. George checked their course, along with short, mid, and long-range scans and kicked his feet up. He wanted to avoid continuing his rumination from the night before: it was the easiest way to get depressed and turned around in mental circles.

He knew he was likely going to die very soon, maybe even before the day was done. Commander Spock had been very specific when he mentioned their rendezvous with the _Kelvin_ and Jim had been adamant about maintaining warp six in this small shuttle, despite the strain it was putting on the entire system. Their estimated time to intercept the _Kelvin_ was 2135 hours and Jim had been eyeing the clock nervously during their entire trip, though he'd made an effort to conceal it. George also recalled Jim's confession about his birth.

 _"_ _You were_ alive _when I was born."_

They seemed like carefully and technically chosen words, otherwise he might have said something like, "you were _there_ when I was born" or "all I have of you are pictures at my first birthday." If Jim had been too young to remember Winona marrying Frank and Winona had struggled for a few years as a single parent before leaving Starfleet altogether, it seemed reasonable to conclude he died sometime around the time Jim was born, and Jim was due to be born any day now, if he hadn't been already.

"Death is a part of life," he said quietly to himself. "So live for _right now_."

 _Right now_ , his son was sleeping soundly behind him. His son was a grown man, technically older than George was, but in some inexplicable way, he was still his little boy. In a few hours it would be time to wake him, and then soon after that, it would be time to return to the _Kelvin_ , but for _now_ , he felt content to indulge himself in that fatherly ritual of keeping watch while his child slept. It couldn't last forever though.

Several hours later, he made a few minor adjustments to their course in the hopes of pulling into stationary orbit of a gas giant to mask the shuttle's signature from the _Kelvin_ 's sensors. Fifteen more minutes and they would be in transporter range; he knew it was time to prepare himself to wake Jim and say his goodbyes. Before he could get to his feet, the com chirped, and he opened the channel and said, "Kirk- _Commander_ Kirk here."

" _Commander, we attempted to disengage the Romulan warbird, but they evaded us for several hours before their vessel was destroyed during our pursuit and subsequent confrontation_ ," Spock explained. " _They were able to transmit a distress call and therefore we need to collapse the rift before others utilize it_."

"How soon can you be here?"

"Pursuing the Romulans took us fourteen light years off your current position," Spock explained.

George did some very rough math in his head. Even travelling at warp _eight_ , it would take _Enterprise_ about five or six hours to reach them, and that was in the opposite direction of the rift. Kirk checked the tone of his voice for smoothness before replying, "Understood. We'll be in transport range of the _Kelvin_ in about fifteen minutes. Send coordinates for a rendezvous."

"Acknowledged. Spock out."

* * *

 **Stardate 2233.04  
2150 hours**

"What time is it?"

"Time for me to go," his father answered. " _Enterprise_ destroyed the Romulan ship, but the Romulans got out a distress call. Chasing them down took them too far off course to pick you up, but Commander Spock sent coordinates for a rendezvous."

"Dammit!" Jim snapped.

"You need to make that rendezvous and even if you leave right now, it'll take you eighteen hours at warp six to make those points. You could push for warp seven, but-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he replied, rubbing his eyes. "The _Kelvin_?"

"Twenty thousand kilometers to our starboard side. I already set up a site lock."

"So I guess that's your ride," Jim said.

His voice was muted and hoarse, and it was all he could do to keep his composure. His father didn't answer. The _Narada_ was due to break through the fabric of space-time in approximately twenty-eight minutes and they didn't have any time to waste. George Kirk, his _father_ , had less than an hour left to live. The _Kelvin_ was too far away to physically see through the wide glass panel of the shuttle, but they both knew it was there, beckoning him, _both_ of them, to their respective destinies.

"I love you, Jim."

Tears streaked his vision and he felt compelled to look away. He began to regret insisting he could handle this mission. "I love you-" No sense in holding back anymore. " _Dad_."

"I guess there's really no point in drawing this out," George said with a forced smile.

He rose from his seat and stepped toward the small transporter at the back of the cabin. "The first thing I intend to do is give your mother a huge hug."

The words seemed strange. Jim froze. Pike's dissertation on the _Kelvin_ began snapping into focus with vivid clarity and his mind struggled to keep up. George Kirk had returned from an away mission right before the _Narada_ 's attack began. Pike's account suggested his father had returned _alone_ , which he had always thought was a bit unusual: it had never been standard practice to send people out alone. Perhaps McAvoy and Hernandez had always been destined to die before the _Kelvin_ was destroyed, which meant…

 _A predestination paradox._

This entire mission, Spock had been so concerned with contaminating the timeline when it was entirely possible that they were all exactly where they were supposed to be all along.

"You _can't_ ," Jim blurted, rising from the pilot's seat to follow his father back to the transporter. "You have to- you _need_ to go straight to the bridge."

George whirled around and Jim could see the muscles of his face tense and relax as he considered his son's demand. Jim needed to think: he needed more time.

"This is how I die, isn't it?" George asked, disturbing his focus. "That's why you and your first officer were so set on getting me back to the _Kelvin_."

His father's voice was level and his face was calm.

If they were truly experiencing a predestination paradox, it seemed possible that telling his father the exact manner of his death wouldn't _destroy_ the timeline, but would _preserve_ it. Jim inhaled deeply and nodded, and his father clenched his jaw and stared up at the ceiling.

"I'm so glad I got the chance to meet you," George said. "I'm so-"

"Dad, you have to listen to me," Jim interrupted. "In about twenty minutes, the _Kelvin_ is going to move to investigate what looks like a lightning storm in space."

"Lightning? In _space_?"

"Just _listen_. You're going to end up running into a massive Romulan ship, bigger than anything you've ever seen. They're going to kill Captain Robau and begin an attack on the _Kelvin_. You _must_ order everyone to abandon ship immediately."

George's face grew darker and he appeared to be holding his breath.

"Mom-" His voice began to crack and tears started to fall, but he forced the words out anyway.

"Mom is going to make it out ok, and I'm going to be born in a medical shuttle. You're going to attempt to hold off the Romulans by ramming the _Kelvin_ into their ship, but the autopilot isn't going to be working. You're going to go down with the ship to save the rest of the crew. And mom. And _me_."

Silent tears began to drip down his father's face and Jim held his breath to keep from sobbing. His father took three swift steps forward and pulled him into a tight embrace. They stood there, locked together for the first and last time as father and son, and George whispered, "I'm so proud of the man you've become."

Jim pulled away and tried to catch his breath. George was already wiping away his tears, and he knew it was time to follow his father's example.

"I've wanted to know you since before I could remember," he coughed. "And now that I _do_ , I hope I can keep making you proud."

George coughed a laugh through his tears and hugged him again. They both muttered, "I love you" simultaneously and took deep breaths.

"You've got to get going," Jim admitted.

He walked his father back to the transporter pad and began triangulating coordinates for transport. He looked over the ship's schematics and reasoned that the starboard cargo bay was the best bet.

"I've already got the lock," George said. "Starboard cargo bay."

Jim offered a pained smile and said, "Great minds think alike, I guess."

George nodded, wiped away the residual tears and put on his best Starfleet officer face.

"Remind your mother how beautiful she is every once in a while," he mumbled. "And hug your brother for me."

Jim choked slightly and nodded his head in reply.

"I love you, son," George said. "I know that must sound crazy because we met less than two days ago, but the truth is, I loved you from the moment your mom told me you were coming into our lives."

Fresh tears were brimming in his eyes as he replied, "I love you too, dad."

His fingers paused momentarily at the controls, but he forced himself to begin initiation. "Energizing."

A wash of light streamed through the back of the shuttle and then he was gone. Jim knew it would be wise to leave this region of space and rendezvous with _Enterprise_ immediately, but he sunk down into a sitting position, feeling that heartbreak was difficult enough without the burden of standing.

"I did the right thing," he muttered to himself repeatedly. "I did the right thing. He had to go back. I did the right thing."

After about fifteen minutes of self-pity, he knew it was time to go. He forced himself back into the pilot's seat and looked down and saw the rendezvous coordinates on his navigation panel, but found himself unable to plot a course. He started to scan for his ship on a high band subspace frequency that the _Kelvin_ wouldn't be monitoring, but he stopped himself. He started scanning on lower frequencies, and soon intercepted the _Kelvin_ 's traffic.

He heard the transmission to Starfleet base, explaining the fluctuations in the gravitational sensors and the lightning storm in space. His blood ran cold: it had started. His hands began to shake and he knew he needed to leave, but acting almost on instinct, he plotted a quick course to intercept the _Kelvin_.

It was so stupid – the _Kelvin_ might detect him or he might get caught in the crossfire, and for _what_? Just to torture himself by watching this unfold?

He continued to listen to the _Kelvin_ 's traffic and slammed his fists hard into the glass terminal when the _Narada_ fired the shots that took the _Kelvin_ 's warp drive offline. He had just pulled the shuttle to just ten kilometers off the _Kelvin_ 's starboard side when he heard the frenzied transmissions about Captain Robau's death echo from the _Kelvin_ and across subspace.

The _Narada_ initiated another immediate attack and Kirk raised the shuttle's shields, finding himself struggling to move out of range of the phaser bursts. This was his worst nightmare. His hands were sweating and his heart was racing and burning tears slid down his face. He pulled back, but was still close enough to observe the destruction through the forward window of the shuttle. Another eerie excerpt from Pike's dissertation fluttered into his mind.

 _The nacelles_. They were offline.

According to Pike's report, the ignition of the nacelles had been what had caused the most severe damage to the _Narada_ , and without that, the Romulans' ship wouldn't have been disabled. _The predestination paradox._

There were no engineers left about the _Kelvin_ to get the nacelles operational, but there was at least one way he could think of to ignite them. He slumped in his chair and howled in agony.

He was going to have to fire on his father's ship: that was the only way. He could see the escape pods and shuttles fleeing into the darkness beyond and knew he had a little more than a minute to make his move. It was the only way.

 _No_.

Not the _only_ way. Maybe his father didn't _have_ to die.

If he could get a lock on George, he could do a site-to-site transport from the _Kelvin_ 's bridge onto one of those medical shuttles. But then George wouldn't be there to steer the _Kelvin_ , which was the only reason he'd brought him back.

" _Dammit_!" he shrieked.

He took a deep breath and wiped the tears from his vision, telling himself again, "I did the right thing; he had to go back."

His fingers flew over the controls to prepare to fire a torpedo into the port nacelle of the _Kelvin_. He was going to have to kill his own father. The thought ricocheted around in his mind, mocking him, but he kept chanting, "I did the right thing."

As he blinked through his tears to look upon the _Kelvin_ and visually identify his target, he saw another option and felt a hopeful numbness spreading through his consciousness.

About thirty meters below the impending site of impact between the _Kelvin_ and the _Narada_ , there was a wide plasma ejection port on the Romulan ship. If he could fire a torpedo _directly_ into that port, it would ignite the whole damn thing, and if he did _that_ , George wouldn't need to be on board to steer the _Kelvin_ : the _Kelvin_ crashing into the _Narada_ would just be icing on the cake. From what he could see, if he acted _now_ , he had _just_ enough time to transport his father to one of the medical shuttles _and_ destroy the _Narada_ with one of the shuttle's torpedoes.

If he did that, Jim knew there was no chance _he_ would survive. He would need to drop the shuttle down and get closer to get the angle precisely right, and the amount of hot plasma that would be expelled into space would overpower the shuttle's feeble shields. He had not come to destroy the Romulan ship, but he had the opportunity, and right about now, somewhere just off to the shuttle's port, he was being born in Medical Shuttle 37. His family could be together.

 _No_. This was not what Spock would do. In fact, the _Enterprise_ had just engaged in a fierce battle to prevent someone _else_ from destroying the _Narada_.

He _had_ to fire on the _Kelvin;_ it was the right thing to do. But then he wondered, what if he was _wrong_ about the predestination paradox? What if by acting, he was risking ruining everything? It was not too late to walk away and let fate decide for itself. Things began flashing through his mind.

 _Being born in a shuttle. Growing up without his father. Frank. The Academy. The destruction of Vulcan. Taking command of the Enterprise. The salvation of Nibiru. Losing Christopher Pike. Carol Marcus. Stopping Khan. Losing half his crew at Altamid. Saving Yorktown. Losing Chekov. Finding his father. Spock becoming a father. Romulan mutineers. Losing his father. Maybe becoming a father himself one day. A future, bloody war with the Romulans. Chekov's final warning about the bad business of messing with time._

There was no right answer. Should he die to save his father, kill his father in the hopes of saving himself and so many others, or do nothing and hope for the best, as Spock would certainly recommend? It wasn't only the fate of his family, but the fate of _billions_ hanging in the balance. His hand hovered over the terminal and began to shake.

Then he made his choice.

* * *

This story was initially loosely inspired by my favorite _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ episode titled, "Yesterday's Enterprise," and was written as an attempt to explore similar concepts of fate and redemption for the alternate timeline.

When I began writing this fan fiction on the day before _Star Trek Beyond_ was released, I believed it would be short and sweet. I put together an outline and knew exactly how I wanted it to end, but after seeing the film, I began to question my conclusion. I decided to push ahead anyway, but after several chapters, I knew I had a really unique opportunity.

There are really three legitimate endings to this story - I could have chosen to preserve the alternate timeline, restore the original timeline, or forge a new timeline altogether. I actually _did_ write an ending, but it's based on what I wanted as a long time fan of Star Trek, but I think it's more fitting to leave it to you, the reader, to decide what you think is best.

Did Captain Kirk fire on his father's ship to save life as he knew it, sacrifice himself to save his father and Vulcan, or do nothing and let fate take its own course? What does tomorrow's _Enterprise_ look like according to your imagination?


End file.
